her amiability was a mask for her ambition

[Fic] A Map (written on your heart), Chapter 7 - COMPLETE

2016-05-21T21:53:16Z

Title: A Map (written on your heart)
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Kurt Hummel/Blaine Anderson
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 11,950
Chapter: 7 (of 7)

Summary: The evolution of Kurt and Blaine, from the back seat of a car at Mr. Schue’s wedding, to Bushwick, to I am a work in progress. (Or, the one where Kurt Hummel becomes Kurt Hummel-Anderson, a decade earlier than planned.)

(Read previous chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6)

*Final chapter posted to AO3 only (due to LJ's character limit).

( Chapter Seven )

[Fic]: A Map (written on your heart), Chapter Six

2016-05-09T18:48:20Z

Title: A Map (written on your heart)
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Kurt Hummel/Blaine Anderson
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~5,700
Chapter: 6 (of 7)

Summary: The evolution of Kurt and Blaine, from the back seat of a car at Mr. Schue’s wedding, to Bushwick, to I am a work in progress. (Or, the one where Kurt Hummel becomes Kurt Hummel-Anderson, a decade earlier than planned.)

(Read previous chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 )

Also posted to AO3

August, 2014

It takes Kurt a day and a half before he’s able to reach Blaine.

The first time his voicemail picks up, instead of his voice, it’s a little jarring. Granted, they text more than call each other these days, but still… In the end Blaine really had always done his best to pick up when Kurt called. After around the tenth time, Kurt has come to expect it though, has memorized the outgoing message, has learned its rhythm and its cadence, has become adept at hanging up before the beep.

It’s Friday afternoon now, and outside the loft the sun is bright and hot – it makes everything look over-exposed and blown-out around the edges. Kurt is on his way to work, and is just about to head down into the subway when he tries Blaine again.

This time, Blaine actually answers.

“Blaine?” Kurt says, after listening to about ten seconds of silence.

He moves off of the sidewalk, and positions himself under the nearest awning, just past the windows of a sandwich shop where Blaine used to sometimes pick up lunch on the weekends. Kurt’s stomach sinks when Blaine still doesn’t say anything.

“Are you there?” he asks, feeling stupid, because of course Blaine is there. Whether he’s there and willing to talk to him is the real question, Kurt figures.

He hears Blaine take a long breath.

“I’m here,” he says finally, and his voice is worn out and rough, like he’s been sleeping, or crying, or both. Kurt’s face warms immediately. The emotions he’s been trying to push away, and bury somewhere deep inside of him are suddenly right there on the surface.

“I still have a key to Mercedes’ place,” Blaine says. “So I’m staying here.”

“I thought she rented that out already?”

“She did. I’m sleeping on the couch.”

Kurt is quiet for a second. He really has no idea how to do this, how to talk to Blaine like this.

“Well, if you want to, you can sleep on the couch here. You know that, right?” He’d left Blaine half a dozen voice messages offering the same thing. He wonders if Blaine has listened to them. “I left you a message," he says. "Messages.”

Blaine doesn’t say anything.

“Blaine, I--”

“I got your messages,” Blaine says, his voice quiet and measured.

“I was worried,” Kurt says without thinking, and hears Blaine suck in a breath.

“Why?” Blaine asks, angry and dismissive, and then before Kurt can answer, he says, “You know, that first message you left, where you said you weren’t even sure if you ‘meant what you said’? About—“ Blaine’s voice breaks off. “About the wedding,” he finishes, quietly.

“Yes,” Kurt says.

He knows he should say something else, and he wants to, but there’s a giant lump in his throat already, and just thinking about that conversation at the restaurant is making Kurt’s stomach lurch. There’s a part of him that’s been pretending that maybe all of this hadn’t been such a big deal – that it had just been another argument, in a long line of arguments that they’d been having for months. But hearing Blaine’s voice now, he knows that this is as far from the truth as anything could be. If he’s being honest, he knows it in his heart, too.

“I know that you meant it,” Blaine says. “I knew for a long time. You thought everything was rushed from the beginning. The engagement, the wedding, all of it. You never really wanted this.”

Kurt allows himself to sink to the ground, all the way down to the sidewalk. He leans back against the side of the building, relieved that he doesn’t have to keep himself upright anymore.

“I think we should talk about it,” Kurt says, because he does, because it’s what he’s been thinking for the last 36 hours, and, for that matter, for the past few months. Maybe they needed this, maybe this would be the thing that changes everything - if he can just talk to Blaine, if they’re honest with each other, then maybe…

He can hear Blaine’s swift intake of breath in his ear, knows that Blaine is crying, can feel the tears sliding down his face, too.

“I’ve never,” Blaine says, and his voice is fervent and angry and bitter – it’s all the things that scare Kurt about him, sometimes, and all the things that Kurt admires about him too, about his ability to show himself to Kurt like this. “I’ve never thought that for a second. I’ve never felt like it was too soon, or that we were too young, or that things were moving too fast. I’ve always just wanted to be with you.”

“Blaine,” Kurt says, and he really doesn’t recognize the sound of his voice anymore, small and desperate and broken like this. He draws his knees in close to his chest.

“And I don’t know what there is to talk about because I already know,” Blaine is saying, between these horribly long, ragged breaths. “I already know you don’t want--”

Kurt listens as Blaine’s voice dissolves. His hands are shaking. He presses the phone to his ear harder, and tries to pretend he’s somewhere else, anywhere other than in the middle of the sidewalk in broad daylight. He’s finding it hard to breathe. His body feels strange, outside of his control. He should say something - he’d wanted to say something, later that night, all the hours between now and then, but right now, his brain, his voice, his heart – they’re all disconnected. Kurt stares out at the street in front of him, at the shoes and shopping bags parading past him. He’s sure he wouldn’t recognize the person they’re seeing right now. Stupid uniform pants, tears streaming down his face. He wonders why Blaine hasn’t hung up yet.

“Blaine, I have to go to work,” he says in one quick breath, and it’s not really an excuse, he really does have to go. He’s already late. He feels like he’s pleading though, like he needs Blaine’s permission, even though he’s not even sure what for. “I’m already late. It’s that new manager on tonight, so--”

“Kurt,” Blaine says, and Kurt really wishes he wouldn’t say his name anymore, not when he sounds like this. “Please—“

“What?”

“Please don’t call me again.”

Then he hangs up, and Kurt just sits there for a couple of long minutes, just staring at the people passing in front of him. He feels numb. Everything is out of focus. He can’t really remember how to breathe.

This kind of drama happens all over the city - or so Kurt has heard. Apartments are small, so it’s common to see all kinds of things that should be happening behind closed doors happen right out in the open instead. A big city phenomenon, of sorts.

Kurt pulls himself up slowly. He stands under the awning for a second before he propels himself forward. As he descends into the subway, he wonders how this particular drama measures up. Considering the entire population of the city, eight million plus people, this, honestly, is probably pretty commonplace. It probably wouldn’t even make the top ten, the top hundred.

As the train shudders along the tracks and then dives underground, Kurt tries not to think about Blaine’s voice. He tries not to remember his breathless please in a voice that Kurt had barely recognized, as if the most important thing in the world was just to get Kurt to leave him alone.

He tries not to think about anything at all.

**

That night, after a long shift at the diner that verged on endless at times, Kurt arrives home to an empty apartment. One-thousand square feet of silence and space. He realizes that he honestly feels a little relieved, like he’s let go of something really heavy.

He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been. How nice it feels not to have to worry about starting each day with an argument, even a stupid, unimportant one like they mostly were - or worse, ending it with one.

He doesn’t think about the messages he’d left Blaine. Or their conversation before his shift, on the sidewalk under that awning, where for several long minutes the edges of his consciousness had felt so heavy and dark, and he’d honestly been afraid he might pass out, because that’s how serious it had felt, the idea of ending this, of everything being over with Blaine. It had made everything feel cold, despite the heat.

Kurt doesn’t think about that now. He doesn’t think about the tone of Blaine’s voice, how he’d sounded like a stranger. Blaine has never sounded like a stranger to Kurt. Even the first day they met, when Blaine had introduced himself, he hadn’t sounded like a stranger. He had always sounded like someone who belonged in Kurt’s life, like someone who knew him.

He doesn’t think about all the words he didn’t say to Blaine, all the things he could have said to try to make Blaine understand.

He doesn’t think about Blaine’s socks, lined up in neat rows in boxes at the bottom of his wardrobe, not being worn, or about his hair products crowding the edges of the sink in the bathroom. He doesn’t think about the non-refundable down payment they’d given the florist for the wedding, and he doesn’t think about an entire future together - his entire life, planned out, and then offered up to the universe in an instant, a sort of sacrifice, maybe.

Kurt tries his very best not to think about any of these things.

**

There's a narrative that he has in his head, and it carries him pretty far – hours, days, a week. It's mostly parsed out from conversations with his dad, who tells him, sympathetically, that he should cut himself some slack, that he's young - they're both so young. There was a lot of pressure. People crack under pressure sometimes, and it's okay. If it's meant to be, it'll happen. They'll come around to each other again. It's okay to take some time off.

It's really not okay though. The realization that he has really, really screwed up this time is not lost on him. He knows that there may not be any coming back from this. He can’t help but feel that if Rachel, if anyone, was here, they’d force him to run back to Blaine, to apologize, to at least try to fix this before it becomes un-fixable. But he knows it’s not as simple as that, and there isn’t anyone here forcing him to do anything.

The fall placement audition happens, and then the semester starts.

Kurt shows up to class, work, rehearsal. He thinks a lot, but he doesn’t do anything.

**

Sam calls, out of the blue, from Lima. He’s going to be in town, wrapping up some modeling contract. He wonders if he can stop by. He’s doing a favor for Blaine – he wants to pick up Blaine’s things from the apartment, if that’s okay. Kurt doesn’t have to pack anything up, but if he could just point him in the right direction, that’s all he needs.

Because, apparently, Blaine hates him so much, he can't even stand for them to be in the same room together anymore.

It makes Kurt angry. Jealousy twists inside of him at the thought of Blaine calling Sam, asking him to come here to do this for him. He knows he’s being irrational. That there’s no reason to begrudge Blaine this friendship, this support.

It makes it real though, is the thing. It cuts through the wall of fog that seems to have been erected between Kurt and the world, makes this somehow more permanent – a thing that there are words for. An ex-boyfriend, an ex-fiance. Belongings to be collected. A failed engagement.

**

He packs up Blaine’s things because he wants to, because he knows that it’s a thing he’s capable of. He can’t stand the thought of Sam just tossing everything haphazardly into a box, wrinkled and mixed up and not organized by color, and season.

He folds Blaine’s crisp shirts, and his sweaters, and his colorful collection of slim-fit chinos very carefully.

He takes various plastic tubes, and tubs, and bottles from the bathroom and arranges them in a medium-sized cardboard box. Smaller items, lip balm, eye cream, go into appropriately-sized Ziplock bags. It takes him hours; he’s meticulous, careful not to overlook anything.

He doesn’t cry; his breath doesn’t hitch once until the very end, until he sees everything piled up in a corner of the living room: Blaine’s suitcase, a couple of boxes, the table lamp he’d brought home from a thrift store one Saturday afternoon, months ago. A throw rug that never matched anything, a stack of books. The soda stream machine, because Kurt has always really hated that thing, no matter how much Blaine had tried to convince him otherwise.

It starts as a lump in his throat, and before Kurt knows it, he’s curled up in a ball on the couch, and he can’t catch his breath. He feels utterly and completely alone, really feels it, right down to his bones, and it terrifies him. Blaine is gone. Obviously, Blaine has been gone for weeks, and Kurt has been aware of this, has come home every night to an empty apartment, has deflected questions about Blaine at NYADA, but this - looking at all of Blaine’s things piled neatly against the wall by the door - really, really brings it home.

At NYADA, Blaine hasn’t shown up to any of the classes they’d scheduled together. Kurt figures he’s found some way to switch to other sections, or maybe he’s just dropped the classes altogether. As the days have passed, Kurt has been struck by how completely ridiculous it is that someone who used to be the most important part of his day, of his life - someone who’s still there, who still exists in the same city, the same school - could suddenly just disappear. It’s like Blaine has been plucked up and deleted from Kurt’s life, as if he’d never been there in the first place.

All of the questions he’d been asking himself before – why they were fighting so much, the wedding, what it meant that they weren’t happier, that New York with Blaine wasn’t a perfect utopia of pre-marriage bliss – suddenly none of that matters at all anymore.

Blaine is gone.

Kurt has ruined everything, and there’s no going back.

He’s alone.

And these are all facts that he can more or less deal with, that he’s been dealing with. He doesn’t know what to do with his heart though, or any of these feelings.

He wishes he could carefully pack them up in a box, too. They’re clearly not going to do him any good – they’ve clearly never done him any good. He can’t though – they’re stuck; lodged inside of him, filling in all sorts of nooks and crannies and miniscule little cracks – he’d never be able to find them all.

This is different than their last break up, when Kurt could be angry, when he could fill up his heart with that, and call it justified. This time all Kurt has to fill anything up with is the realization that he wasn’t strong enough. To accept Blaine’s love. To express his own.

He doesn't know what he is--what he was--so scared of.

Eventually he falls asleep on the couch, and when he wakes up, Blaine’s things are still there in a pile, just like they had been the night before, and he’s still alone.

**

The loft had felt so small, with Blaine there - like they were tripping over each other all the time, getting in each other's way, on each other's nerves, to the point where Kurt just felt like he was being bombarded with evidence of their incompatibility, all the time.

It was the wedding – so many details, and decisions – and maybe it wasn’t the wedding at all. But Kurt had been overwhelmed, and he suspects Blaine had been, too. His dad said it was normal – reminded him how many hours Kurt had spent on flower arrangements for his wedding with Carole, just for one example. Kurt doesn’t think so; he doesn’t think any of it had been normal. Doesn’t think Blaine sleeping four hours a night, tops, because he couldn't stop searching wedding websites for napkin rings or overhead lighting schemes had been normal.

He’d wanted desperately for something to change, and then it had, and now he wants it to change again, backwards or forwards, it doesn’t really matter. He just wishes something would happen, so that he can stop feeling like everything is so pointless – like he’s wasted the last four years of his life, believing in something that ended up like this in the end.

**

It’s a Thursday, and on Thursdays, Kurt knows that Blaine has a musical theater history class that meets from five until six-thirty – it’s one of the few classes that he wasn’t going to be sharing with Kurt, and Kurt is fairly certain that he’ll be able to catch him on his way home afterwards.

It’s a shot in the dark, really, and mostly a spontaneous decision. A selfish one, maybe. Kurt realizes this the second Blaine comes out of the classroom and reluctantly meets his eyes.

“Can we, um,” Kurt starts, but he’s immediately taken back by the hostility, the anger on Blaine’s face. It’s been a month since that night at the restaurant, and somehow Kurt isn’t expecting this. He forges forward anyway. “Do you mind if we talk?” he says. “Just for… well, I don’t know exactly how--”

“Let me stop you there,” Blaine says. “Yes, I mind.”

He doesn’t say anything else, and Kurt just stands there for a moment, confused. The rest of the class has filed out and dispersed around them. The teacher is the last one out of the room, and as his back retreats down the hallway, Blaine turns around, and starts to follow him.

“Wait,” Kurt says, panicking a little. “Blaine, wait!”

Blaine stops, turns around slowly. Kurt doesn’t really recognize him anymore, he realizes. It’s not just that Blaine’s wearing a shirt that Kurt doesn’t recognize, it’s like everything about him has changed – how he holds himself, how he looks at Kurt most of all, like Kurt is some sort of hostile presence that he can’t wait to get the hell away from.

“What are you doing?” Blaine asks, looking around like he needs to plan an escape route, like he’s mapping out possible exits.

“I don’t know,” Kurt admits. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to talk to you.”

Blaine is standing in front of him, looking anywhere but Kurt’s face, and there’s something complicated, and guarded about the way he’s holding himself, about the set of his shoulders, his jawline.

“Blaine,” Kurt says, searching for something familiar, anything to stop this surge of emotion he can feel rising up inside of him. “I—“

“No,” Blaine says quickly, and for a second before he turns away again, his face softens into something Kurt almost recognizes, but it’s gone as quick as it came. “I can’t do this.”

“Do what? You can’t even talk to me now?”

“You’re not saying anything!” Blaine says, voice rising, eyes wide. His hands are clenched into tight fists at his sides. “If you had something to say you would have said it by now.”

“You told me not to call you, so I thought I’d come in person, and-- I’m sorry, I didn’t exactly plan this.”

“Well you should have, because I’m not going to let this happen again.”

“Let what happen again?”

“I’m not going to let you corner me, and—and--”

And Blaine is doing an okay job of hiding it, ducking his head, and turning away from Kurt, but… Kurt recognizes the movement of his shoulders, can see him swiping at his face.

“Look,” Kurt says, quietly. “Maybe we should do this somewhere else.”

“Where? Somewhere where no one from school will see us?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Kurt says, feeling defeated, underwater already. He shouldn’t have come here. “This was a mistake,” he says. “I’m really sorry.”

“Me, too,” Blaine says, and Kurt doesn’t wait to hear anything else, just turns and makes his way out of the building.

Outside, the sky is threatening rain. Kurt walks several blocks in the wrong direction, away from school and the subway, until he turns on a street lined with brownstones, and wrought iron fences. No one is following him – he’s alone on the street, aside a couple of people at the far end of the block, who turn the corner a second later before they disappear from sight.

Kurt sits down on the bottom step of the first stoop that doesn’t have a gate blocking it.

It seems ridiculous, to let all of this go. Everything they’ve shared between them, to just let it go like this, without so much as a real conversation, but the look on Blaine’s face in the hallway… He looked like he couldn’t wait to get away from him. Blaine has never looked at him like that before.

It makes Kurt think that maybe he was right - they were never ready for this.

It’s not about whether or not he meant what he said that night – at least for Kurt, it’s not about that night at all anymore, not really. It’s everything else – it’s Blaine’s things piled into a corner of the living room and Sam making small talk as Kurt helps him carry them down the stairs to his truck. It’s Blaine not picking up the phone and not answering his texts and not calling, and both of them walking away, just now outside that classroom.

It’s about walking away from all of this. And of course, it’s about the horrible things Kurt said that night, whether he meant them or not… It’s about everything they’ve ever shared, everything they’ve ever said, or not said.

Sometimes Kurt thinks he’d do anything to fix it, get married tomorrow if it meant that everything could go back to the way it was – but there’s just no way to reconcile that fantasy, with the reality of what just happened between them. Blaine could barely even look at him. He doesn’t have any words to explain how they’ve arrived here.

When it finally starts to rain, the cement at his feet darkens slowly, wet blotches that grow and spread around his shoes, up and onto the steps next to him. Kurt eventually forces himself up, and points himself in what he’s fairly certain is the direction of the subway.

**

Kurt doesn’t try to contact Blaine again, after that. He spends a lot of time thinking, instead. About this summer, and the wedding, about Blaine’s proposal - about everything, really.

This had never been about not wanting to marry Blaine. Kurt had always wanted that. He'd told Blaine as much in a McKinley stairwell when he had no idea what he even meant. He would have accepted a gum wrapper from a clueless teenager as proof of everything that one person could conceivably promise to another person. He didn't need Blaine's elaborate proposals, or a ring made of anything other than paper. He knew that Blaine loved him. And he was always going to say yes.

And still, it had occurred to Kurt fairly early on that maybe Blaine had staged his over-the-top proposal the way he had because he was afraid of giving Kurt the opportunity to say no. (Or maybe. Or yes, but not right now.)

It made him feel guilty. Made him wonder why he could never seem to make Blaine feel as loved as he needed to be loved. Because after everything they’d shared between them, Blaine had still thought he might actually say no. The more he thinks about it, the more awful it makes him feel. He wonders what exactly it means, that Blaine had chosen a spectacle, had chosen to let Kurt off easy – to make him an offer he couldn’t refuse.

But Kurt had always been afraid to admit just how much he cared, and he’s not stupid enough to think Blaine didn’t know that, too.

He tells his therapist all of this, on a chilly, windy Thursday afternoon, in a tiny room in her East Village office. The couch is white leather, and there are so many throw pillows, he always ends up crowded right into the center. He wonders if the pillows are there on purpose, strategically placed, so that her patients don’t ever get too comfortable.

It had taken him about a month and a half, to realize that he was going to lose his mind if he didn’t talk to someone about this, if he didn’t at least try to make sense of why he’d ruined this so spectacularly.

He’s not sure how it’s going so far. Most of the time he just feels like a silly, emo teenager. Sometimes though, he feels something take hold inside of him, a kind of deep understanding of himself that he’s shied away from for as long as he can remember.

"Were you comfortable telling him how you felt in those moments, when you were overcome with emotion?"

"No," Kurt whispers, and suddenly it's so obvious. How much he’d been hiding, even from Blaine. "I wasn't. I didn't."

It’s the first time that Kurt wonders if maybe the most important person in his life had never actually known him at all.

**

The loft feels huge without Blaine. The world feels huge, too; it’s hard to navigate, sometimes. Time passes in a blur.

Sam calls, a couple of times.

"You know he's not going to class, like, at all," he says, from far away Lima, Ohio, where Kurt hasn’t been for what feels like a lifetime.

"I know," Kurt says. He wraps his fingers around his coffee, trying to hold in the warmth that doesn't really reach him.

He's noticed. Of course he has. How at first he'd occasionally walk past Blaine in the hallway, or in the cafeteria, and then it had just stopped one day. Blaine was there, and then he wasn't.

"Can you try to talk to him, at least?"

"Trust me, it wouldn't help," Kurt says, voice thin, and quiet.

"It might."

Kurt can hear the hope in Sam's voice and tries to remember what that must feel like.

"Okay," he says, and it's not a lie, he really thinks he can do it.

But he waits too long, a week, maybe two, before he tries calling Blaine again, and by then Blaine is gone. Has changed his number, is no longer enrolled at NYADA, no longer in New York at all.

**

The loft still feels huge. The city is endless, sometimes. He misses Rachel.

His therapist tells him he has intimacy issues, which, he supposes, is something he always knew was true. She spends a lot of time asking him about his mother, and Finn, tells him that he needs to spend more time examining his emotions, and being honest with himself, which feels ironic, because he always thought that's what he was doing, pretty much every second of every day.

It’s like he doesn’t even know himself anymore.

**

Labor Day has long since come and gone - it’s the middle of October, and the weather has started getting cold again, has started turning towards winter.

Kurt spends a lot of time thinking about things he should have said to Blaine when he’d had the chance.

He thinks about the last couple of days with Blaine, all that wasted time spent arguing and worrying about a wedding that never happened. He wonders when the last time he’d told Blaine he loved him and really meant it had been… He wonders if Blaine had believed him.

He wishes he’d said those words more often. Not I love you, too, but I’ve loved you since the day we met. Since you took my hand that day. I loved you first. As if that counts for anything at this point. He’s sure it wouldn’t have made a difference, but he wishes he’d said it all the same.

He writes long letters, at his therapist's suggestion, pours his heart out to Blaine with as much reckless abandon as he can manage. Wine helps, sometimes. Ambien doesn't. But he writes all the time anyway. He tells Blaine everything – all of his fears, how he’s not sure if he believes in love anymore, how he’s not sure if he ever really believed in it, how underneath it all, he’d always been scared - of losing Blaine, of losing everyone, of losing himself.

He tells Blaine that there are things he’s working on, that the next time they meet, he’ll be better.

He contradicts himself a lot. He tells Blaine that he wants to believe in love again. He tells him that he believes what they shared was real, that it meant something, that it meant everything, that it still means everything.

He knows he’s supposed to hold on to the letters, that the end result is supposed to be that eventually, he comes to terms with everything that he’s ever felt about this, that the letters are proof, but he throws them away instead – grabs the pages and crumples them into the trash. Sometimes he lights a candle, and watches carefully as the flame overtakes a corner of the paper, and then engulfs it. He even buys an ugly metal trash can from the hardware store around the corner, for safety. It’s cathartic, he tells himself. It’s better than nothing.

**

November arrives, and Kurt is not surprised when he’s the only one who shows up on that street corner on a particularly grey, rainy afternoon. He hadn’t really been expecting a reunion, has a hard time even imagining what that would look like anymore – it’s been so long since he’s talked to anyone from McKinley.

He should probably take it as a sign – let go. Move on.

He writes letters instead. Not just to Blaine. To his mother, to his dad. To Finn, and Rachel, too.

He even saves some of them. He doesn’t contradict himself quite so much, either – he starts to recognize that his thoughts and his feelings have patterns, starts to understand them. His therapist tells him that he needs to face his fears. That he needs to learn how to forgive himself. It feels impossible, but he tries anyway.

She tells him he’s doing well, that he’s making progress. Sometimes he believes her.

**

And then it’s an entirely new year. It’s January, and Rachel is back from L.A., is back in Lima, and she says Blaine is there, too. That Blaine is okay, that he's back with the Warblers, that he’s teaching.

It takes Kurt all of three hours to book a flight back to Ohio.

He's packing before he's even cleared it with NYADA, before he's even thought about what it will mean for his work study assignment, before he's even had a chance to think very much at all. There’s no question in his mind though – he knows he needs to do this.

He spends an entire afternoon packing because he can't figure out how to be efficient about it, and packing is something that Kurt is usually really good at. But this time he’s packing, and unpacking, and packing again, feeling a bit manic, unable to figure out what to bring, and what to leave behind when he has no idea if he's coming back next week, or next month, or never.

He leaves Blaine's blanket on the couch in the loft, the one that used to smell like him, the one that he’d sort of stolen. He’d tried to squeeze it in to his luggage at first, and then he’d changed his mind, and then he’d changed his mind again, before he’d finally just returned it to the couch.

He's sure Blaine doesn't even remember that he has it anymore. It's more his than Blaine’s now, anyway – hasn’t smelled like anything but the loft for months.

And if the past few months have taught Kurt anything, they’ve taught him that sometimes you have to leave something behind to move forward.

***

Hmmm...

2016-04-25T23:30:15Z

So I was messing around with my layout because there was a wonky image link error, and somewhere along the line I clicked a box that took me back to the old LJ view, and it's driving me INSANE that I can't figure out how to change it back to the new one. I swear it was in settings, but when I go back there now, I don't see anything.

So....if anyone could point me in the direction of where that little checkbox thing is with the old/new version of LJ, I would be very grateful.

(Also, thanks LJ, for reminding me that I never really learned how to code. I needed that :P)

[Fic]: A Map (written on your heart), Chapter Five

2016-04-25T22:43:40Z

Title: A Map (written on your heart)
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Kurt Hummel/Blaine Anderson
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 6,304
Chapter: 5 (of 7)

Summary: The evolution of Kurt and Blaine, from the back seat of a car at Mr. Schue’s wedding, to Bushwick, to I am a work in progress. (Or, the one where Kurt Hummel becomes Kurt Hummel-Anderson, a decade earlier than planned.)

(Read previous chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4 )

Also posted to AO3

July, 2014

It’s July, and the dog days of summer have officially arrived on the island of Manhattan. Everything is hot and sticky and just finding a space to plant your body on the subway is a taxing affair.

Kurt finds himself almost unconsciously making excuses to spend as much time away from the loft, and Bushwick as possible. He lingers with coworkers at the diner after his shift ends. He goes in early, and spends a lot of time in empty NYADA practice rooms rehearsing, and not rehearsing - scrolling mindlessly through his phone, reading Broadway blogs and fashion headlines.

He is at least peripherally aware that he’s running away - that he’s throwing himself and his time at things that in the long run, are not very important, and that this is not making anything any easier.

But there's stress and tension, and every day seems to build on the one before. There’s something close to resentment growing inside of him. Kurt remembers having felt this way towards his father, years ago, when he felt misunderstood and misrepresented - when it seemed like no matter what he did, there just wasn’t any way to close the gap with this person that he loved more than anything. Kurt isn’t sure what it means that he’s feeling this way now. He’s tired though – of feeling like he’s failing, just a little more, every day.

The days keep passing anyway.

It starts out as an idle thought on his way home one night – there’s a new coffee shop over on 10th Avenue that he’s been curious about, and Kurt wonders what would happen if he just stopped in one night without a second thought, if he stopped in and just sat there for an hour or two, without wondering if he’d make the last express train to Brooklyn, without wondering if Blaine was home yet, if he’d be waiting up… Kurt wonders what would happen if he could just make a decision to do something, even something simple like this, and just do it. He wonders if the city, if the world would open up to him, maybe, and become something different, too – if maybe it would change, just like that.

The thought keeps coming back, creeping in when he’s out on his own, on the subway, or walking down 8th Avenue as the city bustles around him. It forces him to wonder what it would be like, to be something else, someone different.

**

It’s late, after eleven, and Kurt is standing in the kitchen next to the refrigerator, waiting for Blaine to say something. The a/c unit whirs along in the background, and there's sweat drying on his forehead from climbing the stairs. In the end, he’d rushed; he’d run up three sets of stairs from underground, and had briskly covered the distance between the subway and the apartment, despite the heat. He wonders if his cheeks are still red.

Blaine is sitting at the table with his laptop open. His face is completely still when he looks up at Kurt, eyes searching his face.

“I’m not saying you have to account for every second you’re gone,” Blaine says, and his voice sounds tired, and a little guarded. “I just wish you’d texted me. I was worried.”

Kurt knows he should have texted Blaine. They’d had a date, of sorts, a let me know when you’re on your way home – I’ll start dinner, and we’ll watch a movie kind of date, and not a date where he’d left Blaine waiting somewhere for him, but still. He knew that Blaine had been waiting all the same.

And sure, he could have forgotten, could have lost track of time in one of the rehearsal rooms, but he also knows that this isn’t what had happened.

Kurt knows he should apologize, that he owes at least this much to Blaine.

Instead, he says, “I don’t know, Blaine – sometimes I just want to be able to go out, on my own…”

He watches Blaine’s face fall – hurt feelings flashing across his face.

“I mean with myself, Blaine,” Kurt says quickly, guilt seeping in where it’d been cut off before. “Sometimes I want to just-- I don’t know, go to a coffee shop, or--or a bookstore. By myself.”

Blaine lets out a breath. “Since when do you frequent bookstores?”

“I just mean--” Kurt feels deflated, suddenly, feels like an idiot. “I don’t know what I mean. Just forget it.”

“Kurt, you can still do those things,” Blaine says, and his voice is earnest, so well-meaning it makes Kurt’s chest ache. “You can do anything you want – I’m not stopping you.”

And suddenly Kurt is very much not deflated, he feels a surge of unexpected emotion in his chest, inexplicable, and completely overwhelming. Blaine’s eyes are dark and searching, as Kurt sinks into the chair across from him.

“I know you’re not stopping me. It’s—It’s me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I could,” Kurt says, voice rising. “I could do those things, sure. But I don’t. I won’t.”

Blaine stares at Kurt for a long moment, and then stretches his hand across the table, brushes his fingers over Kurt’s knuckles tentatively for a second until Kurt looks at him.

“What’s wrong, Kurt? Is this about the wedding, because I--”

Kurt shakes his head. Blaine’s hand is still so close – he can feel it, even though they’re not touching.

“I won’t,” he says, glancing at Blaine, who is watching him with intent, and affection, and Kurt just isn’t sure anymore if he deserves any of it, and he hates doubting that, more than anything.

“I won’t do any of those things,” he says. “Because I’d rather come home to you – I’d rather come home and sit on the couch and have dinner with you and watch TV with you than do anything else. Wanting to do that, it—it stops me from—I don’t know. It just stops me.”

“From going to a coffee shop?”

“Yes,” Kurt says quietly.

“Or a bookstore.”

Blaine stares at him until Kurt looks up, meets his eyes.

“And that’s what’s wrong?”

Kurt lets out a long breath. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

Kurt is aware of the fact that this probably doesn’t make any sense to Blaine. He knows he’s been all over the place lately. He can’t explain why he didn’t text Blaine tonight any more than he can explain anything he’s been feeling lately.

“It didn’t stop you tonight though,” Blaine says. It's somewhere between a question and something else.

“No,” Kurt says quietly.

“I really don’t want to fight about this,” Blaine says, after another moment. He shakes his head. “But a week ago, you told me you were lonely, and now you’re telling me you want more time alone. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that.”

Kurt feels a familiar sense of anxiety rising to the surface. “I’m not asking you to do anything with it, Blaine.”

“Well, that,” Blaine says, his voice breathless and angry, now. “That’s just not up to you, Kurt.”

Kurt has no idea what to say to that. He knows Blaine is right – they’re in this together, of course he’s going to want to try to fix this. Blaine is just staring at him, looking a bit like he doesn’t recognize him. Well, that makes two of us, Kurt thinks. He has the distinct feeling of wanting to crawl out of his own skin.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says, finally, but he’s not sure that it sounds like he means it. “Blaine, I’m sorry. I should have texted you.”

Blaine just nods, and his eyes flicker up to meet Kurt’s, but there’s just too much going on there for Kurt to really take in, just now - he has to look away, has to start moving towards somewhere Blaine isn’t.

He settles on the bathroom, and the shower, and as lukewarm water rolls over his skin, he wonders if maybe he’s going a little crazy. Because the thing is, what happened tonight – he has no explanation other than the fact that lately, he’s started imagining himself as something other than this – as someone other than Blaine’s fiancé.

In a universe outside of this one, where there isn’t a barely thrown together, way-too-rushed-to-be-perfect wedding in their future – in that world he’s just himself. He’s just Kurt Hummel, and he’s not running away from anything or hurting anyone, he just exists. He sits in coffee shops and reads and sketches designs on napkins and doesn't worry about how late it’s getting, or what it means that he doesn't want to get on the subway back to Brooklyn.

It’s not really that he wants something else, or to be someone different, but… There’s something liberating about imagining himself completely unfettered – floating through the streets of Manhattan and Brooklyn, bound by nothing, by no one - weightless, and free.

He doesn’t feel very free tonight though. Tonight he feels an overwhelming sense of guilt, and every time he closes his eyes he sees Blaine’s face after he slid the door open tonight – because at first, before Blaine had been confused and angry and hurt, he’d just been relieved, Kurt could see it on his face. There's nothing freeing at all about this feeling that he's carrying around - because in this universe, Kurt is fairly certain that he's hurting the person he loves for no good reason, over and over.

**

Every day, it seems like things feel a little more frantic, a little less within his control than they did the day before. He can’t talk to Blaine because Blaine is already stressed out about all of the same things, and he just can’t imagine how that conversation would go, how it would start; he can’t come up with any of the right words to talk about anything anymore.

They fight instead – not about important things, not about Kurt spending day after twelve-hour-day in the city, or about the wedding, or their quickly-encroaching future, but about almost comically unimportant things: whose turn it is to take out the garbage, which grocery store has the best organic produce. Kurt hadn’t realized it was physically possible to keep an argument going for over an hour about any of these things that clearly mean nothing at all, but lots of things surprise him now.

Nothing is like Kurt imagined it would be. Everything is a mess, literally - there’s dust a quarter of an inch thick on the bookshelf, and he has no idea when the apartment has last been vacuumed. Their cleaning regimen has been outright ignored lately.

And even though usually Kurt wouldn’t even entertain the thought of spending time in a less than pristine living space, every day he finds himself just glancing at it - the dust, the clutter, the dishes in the sink, and thinks later, tomorrow, over the weekend and before he knows it, tomorrow has come and gone, and nothing has changed.

**

Kurt blinks in the darkness. Blaine’s side of the bed is empty. He’s not sure what exactly it is that woke him up, but past the curtain that that they’d left up after Rachel left, he can see that Blaine has one of the smaller lights on in the living room. He lies there for a few minutes, listening to the sound of Blaine’s fingers, typing away on his laptop. There’s the occasional flip of pages, too.

There’s a lump in Kurt’s throat that feels like it’s been there for weeks. He swallows past it now, but it’s not easy. Nothing feels easy anymore, including sleep. Kurt thinks about taking an Ambien, but it’s already two in the morning, and he needs to be up by seven. Even if he takes half, he’ll be way too groggy to function.

More flipped pages, more typing. There’s a wedding magazine that’s been sitting on the kitchen table for the past week and a half. Kurt is sure it weighs at least five pounds. He’s probably moved it back and forth a half a dozen times by now. Once he tried opening it, but didn’t get past the cover page.

He knows he should be out there with Blaine. He planned his father’s wedding when he was in high school. He’s planned countless fictitious weddings in his head over the years, including his wedding with Blaine - more than once, actually. Kurt loves weddings.

He finds his slippers under the bed, and ventures out into the living room.

Blaine looks surprised to see him, which makes sense, considering that he’s been sneaking out here every night for the past week, and Kurt has never gotten out of bed before.

There’s an open bottle of wine on the coffee table next to Blaine’s wedding planner – a notebook that lately has been looking a little worse for wear. Kurt hasn’t really looked at it, other than to admire the color-coded tabs, and neat rows of handwriting. He imagines swatches of color inside the pages, flower schemes and tablecloth designs.

The wine had been Rachel’s, a gift from some producer, if he remembers correctly. Blaine offers to get him a glass, which Kurt politely declines.

Kurt hates having to employ politeness around Blaine. It makes him feel fake, and superior.

It’s so quiet in the apartment at this hour. Kurt listens, and there’s just nothing, no street noise, no neighbors, nothing. It's as if they’ve been deposited in some vacuum, just floating around in space.

Blaine leans over his laptop to pour himself another glass of Rachel’s wine, and Kurt stares at his back, trying to think of something to say.

“What are you working on?” is what he settles on.

“Right now,” Blaine says, without turning around, “I’m trying to put together a menu for the rehearsal dinner.”

“How’s it going?”

Blaine takes a long, deliberate breath. “Fine, Kurt. It’s going fine. Everything’s going fine. That’s why I’m sitting here drinking wine by myself at two in the morning, because it’s all going really smoothly.”

Kurt is surprised, but he’s not sure why - he set himself up for this, really.

"Sorry," Blaine says a second later, shaking his head. "I think I've been staring at this stuff for too long..."

“You don’t have to do all this, you know,” Kurt says after a moment. Blaine turns around, and actually looks at Kurt for the first time since he's come out of the bedroom. He looks worn out - exhausted, really.

Kurt joins him on the floor, squeezes his shoulder and allows himself to focus for just a moment on the contact, on the warmth of Blaine’s skin underneath the thin layer of cotton.

And then Blaine says, “I do have to do all this. It was my idea, remember.”

Kurt has no idea how they’ve slipped into these roles – but he hates them. He hates seeing Blaine hunched over his laptop, stressed out, almost as much as he hates seeing himself so idle when it comes to this. But it’s not like he can just jump in now, not with Blaine looking at him like this, and this lump in his throat and this feeling in his heart that tells him it’s too late, that he can't redeem himself when it comes to this, not anymore.

“You don’t understand,” Blaine is saying. "Everything is pretty much booked already. Unless we want to settle for--”

“Blaine, I know how weddings work, okay! I did half of this stuff on my own when I was in high school for my dad and Carole!”

Blaine takes a long shuddering breath that scares Kurt a little, because while he knows what it means, knows that Blaine is stressed, and upset, and that he’s not helping – for once, he’s not sure how to fix it. He doesn’t think he can. It’s his fault, after all.

“I know, Kurt,” Blaine says finally. “I know.”

The look on his face makes Kurt’s stomach churn. He never meant for Blaine to feel like this, certainly not about their wedding. He has no idea what to say.

He takes in the piles of papers, the wine, the dog-eared planning book, the wedding magazines, and Blaine’s exhausted, unhappy expression. It doesn’t mean what it should, any of it. He doesn’t feel the way he should. Mostly, he just feels hollowed out, empty, and tired. From the look on Blaine’s face, they have that in common, at least.

In another universe, this would be the point in which another version of himself, a braver version, a more honest version, would turn to Blaine and explain everything – even the thoughts in his head that he can’t make sense of, that he doesn’t understand yet. He would just tell Blaine – that he’s scared, that he’s worried, that he’s never reacted quite like this to anything before, that usually he’s the type to jump right in and examine the things he’s afraid of and to dominate them, but for some reason he’s running away from this. He’s shutting down and he’s lashing out and he knows it’s not fair, and that it’s only making things worse, but in a weird way he thinks maybe he’s reacting like this because it’s so important. Their wedding is so important – they are so important, this thing that they’ve built, that they’re building, now.

He would apologize, for making Blaine feel this way, for not being here, for not being at his best, for not being honest. For imagining his life alone, without this, for thinking even for a second that he’d prefer it like that. He would tell Blaine that he never meant for it to end up like this. And then… then Kurt isn’t really sure what would happen, and that’s as far as he gets, because in this universe, Blaine is staring at him, and he has to say something.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says, quietly.

Blaine is quiet for moment that stretches on way too long.

It’s not enough, Kurt thinks. Of course it’s not, but at the moment, it’s all he has. He meets Blaine’s eyes, hoping for some kind of miracle, maybe.

“Okay,” Blaine says finally. He takes a deep breath.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, and smiles a little. “I know you’ve been rehearsing like crazy this past week, and you've been picking up all those extra shifts--”

“Blaine, I--”

“You’re not off the hook though.” He smiles, bigger this time, like he really means it, and something lights up in Kurt. He’s missed this, has missed Blaine looking at him like this, like he believes in him. “I’m sure there’s some way I can use your expertise to my advantage.”

“Okay, good,” Kurt says – his chest, his whole body, feels weightless. This is the moment, Kurt thinks, when everything will change.

Nothing happens though - there's just this blank 2AM silence hovering between them, and then Blaine turns back to his laptop. The moment is slipping away already, he can feel it.

“You should come back to bed."

“I will, I just have to--”

“It can wait,” Kurt says. His voice is determined, deliberate. “Come on.”

Then he fixes Blaine with a look, the one that he knows Blaine can’t resist, no matter what he's doing - the one that turns his knees to jelly, every time.

**

And Blaine tastes like wine, just like Kurt thought he would – sweet and earthy. He practically melts into Kurt’s arms, as soon as they switch off the light. His lips make their way along Kurt’s neck, to his chest, and everything is familiar and comfortable and so, so good. Blaine’s body is firm against him; a perfect fit, as always.

They breathe words into each other’s skin - I love you and I‘m sorry and please don’t stop and I’ve missed this and please, Kurt and oh, god, Blaine, I— and for a while, everything is wonderful. They’re connected, they’re together, and it means everything.

**

It doesn’t last though.

The apartment is still a mess. Blaine is still obsessed with the wedding, and Kurt is still running away. Nothing is too small to start a fight over. Everything feels like variations on a familiar theme, and nothing really changes.

**

“So how’s the wedding planning going, kid?”

Kurt can hear the sounds of the shop filtered through the phone in the background – guys shouting over the loud whir of machinery. It sounds like they’re a million miles away from Manhattan. He squints in the filtered sunlight of the park, and adjusts the phone against his ear as he takes another sip of coffee. He has to be at the diner in an hour, but it’s been weeks since he’s talked to his dad – maybe longer. It feels like forever. He’s missed his voice.

“It’s fine,” he says, hoping to change the subject quickly. “You’re not working too much, are you? You know I’ve got Carole on speed-dial, too, so don’t even think about lying to me.”

“I’m working just as much as I’m allowed to be, thank you very much. And I feel great. But I really do want to know how the planning’s going, so don’t think you can put me off that easily. You’ve barely said a word about it all summer.”

“I said it’s going fine, Dad,” Kurt says tightly.

“Really? Because Blaine called me last night. He sounded pretty stressed.”

“Blaine is always stressed,” Kurt deadpans. “But, uh… Why did he call? He didn’t mention anything.”

“The guest list,” his dad tells him, and Kurt’s heart sinks a little.

“Yeah, I think I was supposed to call you about that.”

“Blaine may have mentioned something to that effect.”

Kurt sighs. In front of his park bench, two older men jog past in tank tops and short shorts. In the grassy area behind the benches, there’s a father playing catch with his son. He can’t be more than four or five – the glove takes up half of his arm. The first toss sails over the kid’s head, and when he turns to run for the ball, a private, proud smile spreads across the man’s face. It’s one of Kurt’s favorite things about the city – this anonymity among strangers, this quiet mutual understanding between people living their lives in shared spaces, day after day.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says finally. “I had no idea he was going to hassle you about it.”

There’s a familiar, slightly exasperated huff on the other end of the line.

“Don’t twist my words, Kurt. It’s no hassle. I support both of you one hundred percent on this. I’m happy to help.”

Kurt can’t help but smile a little. “I know you are, Dad. Thank you.”

He feels nostalgic suddenly, for Lima, for a hug from his dad, for being able to feel like a kid again, instead of an adult, planning weddings and finalizing guest lists.

“Now Kurt,” his dad says. “Don’t bite my head off, but I have to ask you – why is Blaine the one calling me about this?”

Kurt freezes, stares straight ahead, as the empty bench across from him becomes occupied again, this time with an older man, who spreads the New York Times open wide across his lap.

“Because I forgot, I guess. I’ve been really busy.” The words almost make him cringe, they sound so inadequate.

“Too busy to plan your own wedding?” Kurt can practically see the expression on his dad’s face – eyebrows raised in disbelief. “I find that hard to believe. And so does Blaine. He’s worried about you.”

“Well, that’s ridiculous,” Kurt snaps.

“Kurt,” his dad says, voice serious, no-nonsense. “If this isn’t what you want, or if this if this is moving too fast, you have to be honest with him.”

Kurt nearly forgets to breathe for a second.

“We’ve been engaged for over a year,” he says after a long moment.

“This is important, Kurt. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been.”

Kurt’s anger bubbles over then, he can’t help it. “I know it’s important! It’s my wedding. I know how important it is, but there are other things that are important too!”

His dad is quiet, letting him have his say, Kurt supposes – he’s always been a good listener - but the problem is, Kurt is really not in the mood for this right now.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says quickly. “Can we please talk about something else? How’s Carole?”

There’s a long sigh on the line, before his dad speaks again.

“Carole is fine, Kurt. She joined a support group, over at that Lutheran church around the corner from McKinley. Says it’s been good, just being able to talk to people, who, you know – people who have been through the same things.”

“That’s good,” Kurt says, meaning it. “That’s really good.”

They’re quiet for a moment, and Kurt thinks, not for the first time, about how much Finn would have loved New York, if he’d given it a chance. He probably would have ended up being one of those sweaty guys in baggy shorts and t-shirts running around the great lawn chasing flags on Saturday afternoon, apologizing to the fashionable sunbathers when one of his teammates got too close.

“Kurt, listen,” his dad starts, and Kurt is pretty sure there’s some kind of lecture coming. He probably deserves it.

“Yes?”

“I just want you to know you can be honest with me. About whatever’s bothering you.”

“I know that,” Kurt says, and watches the man across from him move on to the sports section. “And nothing is bothering me, okay? I’ve just been getting a little tired of the constant wedding talk. I know Blaine’s been working really hard on everything, but…”

“But what?”

Kurt finds himself shrugging. “I don’t know. Something feels off,” he admits. “Ever since Rachel left… I don’t know.”

“I told you, being married is hard, right? Well, living together is hard too. You make compromises. Some of them are gonna be easier than others. But as long as you’re honest with each other, as long as you keep talking to each other, and trying to understand where the other person is coming from, I think you’ll do alright.”

Kurt thinks about earlier this week, about that stupid goddamned towel, and the toothpaste, about how Blaine would just not let it go for anything. It was such a ridiculous thing to be arguing about anyway. And Blaine had just kept going on and on and on. About respect, about how if you respect someone, it doesn’t matter if you agree with them, you just do it, because you care, and how infuriating it had been to hear Blaine act like Kurt didn’t care about their entire relationship, or about his fiancé as an actual human being, because of a stupid towel. He can feel his heart racing now, just thinking about it. Blaine had already apologized, of course. He had, too. He wonders how much his dad would think that counted for.

“That’s good advice, Dad. Thanks,” Kurt says, and there are a million other things he could say, but he decides against all of them. There’s something comforting about someone he really cares about not knowing what a complete mess he’s made of everything. It doesn’t seem worth it to ruin that just yet.

After they’ve said their goodbyes, Kurt stays in the park for a while. He finishes his coffee, and the man across from him finishes his paper. Kurt watches as he folds it neatly on the bench next to him before he stands up, slides it under his arm, and starts to make his way down the path. The game of catch ends without Kurt noticing. When he looks up at the grass beyond the benches again, the man and his son are walking away – he watches as the little boy points excitedly at a squirrel as it darts across their path.

Sitting here like this, on a beautiful, not-oppressively-hot summer day in the park, Kurt is inclined to be optimistic. The wedding will come together; it’ll be small, and it’ll be perfect. Blaine will, after this is all over, forgive his temporary insanity. They’ll stop wanting to murder each other over bath linens. Sitting here like this, it all seems so inconsequential.

He thinks about calling Blaine, and then remembers that he can’t do that because last night, Blaine had practically begged him to go with him to two different appointments this morning – one with the florist, and another with the photographer, and Kurt had declined. He’s supposed to be rehearsing, except that he’s not, he’s sitting in Central Park drinking coffee and watching squirrels and chatting with his dad like everything is fine when he’s pretty sure that it’s not. He knows that it's not inconsequential, that all of these things have meaning and weight, that they're important.

Maybe he should have told his dad - maybe he would have had some advice, some wisdom, something that would have made everything feel okay again.

Next time, Kurt thinks, and starts to make his way across the park, and into the city.

**

The day that it happens, and everything comes to a head, the day when something actually changes, Kurt wakes up before his alarm.

Blaine is already gone. He has a vague recollection of him mentioning something last night about breakfast, and early member hours with June - some museum, downtown.

He goes to the gym – spin class, a few weights, nothing too crazy – and comes back to the apartment to shower.

He has a six hour, relatively uneventful shift at the diner. One of the waitresses asks about Rachel, about her TV show, and L.A., and Kurt says that he has no idea, because he doesn’t. He hasn’t heard a word from her since she left, which is not entirely surprising – Rachel is the most focused person he knows, when she’s serious about something - but all the same, he should probably call her.

He makes a mental note to do this, but only after they’ve pinned down the wedding location, because he knows she’ll ask about it, and the thought of deferring to Blaine on something like this just feels wrong. And she would never let him live it down.

And as of today, it’s what he’d have to do because the last he heard, there were three potential options, one of which may require a five-thousand-dollar deposit that they don’t have, another of which is in Hoboken. New Jersey. Kurt can feel his anxiety levels raising just thinking about it. He’s supposed to be excited about this. He’s not. He can’t admit to Rachel that he’s not excited, that instead he’s really kind of just freaking out about everything.

He calls anyway, after his shift ends, a block from the diner, on his way to NYADA to rehearse with his pianist. He’s thinking of doing Awaiting You, from Myths and Hymns for the fall audition, something he’s sure Rachel will appreciate. The call goes to voicemail. He thinks about leaving a message.

“When you and Finn were planning your wedding did you ever think of just eloping? About how much easier it would be not to worry about any of the logistics and just…do it in some tiny no-name town somewhere where no one knows you at all?”

But Kurt knows that Rachel isn’t thinking about Finn right now, or about Kurt and his wedding woes. Rachel has her own life, and it’s much bigger than his at the moment.

He doesn’t leave a message.

**

While Kurt is in rehearsal, Blaine fills up his phone with text messages. Mostly it’s details about where to meet for dinner later, something they’d planned earlier this week, since for once, Kurt isn’t working in the evening. Blaine changes the time three times before Kurt has a chance to respond – something about making it to the caterers before they close – and eventually they decide on 8:45. Later than Kurt would like – he’s already hungry, but whatever. He has an hour, probably an hour and a half, really, until he needs to head downtown.

He’ll use the time to rehearse, he decides.

He signs in to one of the larger classrooms that are available for students to use as practice rooms. It feels too big, but this is what he’d wanted – to hear his voice echo like it will in the Round Room, at his audition.

He gets halfway through his first song before he stops. He’s not feeling it. He hasn’t been feeling it for a while, really, despite the extra rehearsals - hasn’t really been feeling anything, except anxious and uptight, and worried about the future, and the past, and everything all at once. He keeps telling himself to take it one day at a time, one thing at a time, one song at a time. He’s not sure that it’s working.

He doesn’t feel like he’s in control of anything, anymore. The summer is flying by, and with it are so many things he won’t be able to take back, or explain away. Arguments, and silences, and not saying what he means, and not asking the things he wants to ask… Not talking, or talking about the wrong things - not stopping Blaine from planning their entire wedding without him.

It’s the wedding, and it’s not the wedding – it’s something deeper, maybe. Kurt can’t pin it down, this anxiety. It amps something up inside of him, something he doesn’t like, something that reminds him of high school before Dalton and the bottom of the dumpster in the McKinley parking lot – it’s all-consuming, sometimes, and it dulls everything else.

Kurt glances at his watch. He should leave soon, if he wants to make it to the restaurant on time.

He really doesn’t feel like meeting Blaine for dinner tonight. There’s rain in the forecast, and he wonders if maybe they should just order in. It’s probably too late for that though. Blaine has already left for god knows how many wedding-related errands he’s squeezing in today, and he’d probably chosen the restaurant based on where he’d be coming from so, fine, Kurt thinks. Dinner. It’s been a while since they’ve done Italian, and this place is one of their favorites – low key, quiet, and they can always get a table. It might be nice. They haven’t had a night to themselves in a while.

**

Blaine is fifteen minutes late to the restaurant, and by the time he gets there, it’s been raining for a while.

Later, Kurt will replay the evening in his head over and over so many times that it feels like it took a lifetime to unfold, but all told, he’s probably only there thirty minutes, tops. Blaine is there for far less than that. In Kurt’s memory, he’s there one second, and gone the next.

The rain pinging off the plastic sheets behind him, the wobbly little table, the menu that he’d stared at for what felt like hours before Blaine arrived – there’s nothing really that noteworthy about any of it. He’d been starving. After much deliberation, he’d decided on broccoli rabe with roasted pork, and spinach ravioli. He was considering ordering for himself, and Blaine, just before Blaine arrived.

Everything happens so fast that Kurt can’t really process it until much later. Most of their recent, petty fights over nothing had taken infinitely longer than this, which is pathetic, Kurt thinks, and also really, really sad. The most important person in his life, the most important thing in the world, and it’s gone in five minutes. It shouldn’t be possible, but it happens, it’s happening.

It starts like any other argument they’ve had lately, but boils over much more quickly than usual, like maybe they were halfway there already. Kurt remembers thinking, just before Blaine got there, that he really needs to figure out how to just be late for things, instead of always showing up at least five minutes early, because then it just makes him more angry, the later Blaine is. And Blaine is almost always late. Kurt has known this for years.

It really doesn’t mean anything though, late or early. There’s no grand, deeper meaning to it. Or maybe there is – he’s really not sure anymore.

There’s a spike of adrenaline, and a bright flash of anger and Kurt is listening to Blaine’s voice, and then he’s saying that maybe he doesn’t want to get married, and at first it feels a bit like he’s taken the bait. Like he’s been set up, like he’s acting on a dare, but in the end, he’s the one who said it, not Blaine. And Blaine doesn’t even really contradict him, doesn’t argue, looks at Kurt like he’s been expecting this, or worse, like this had somehow been inevitable.

And then Kurt is saying things that he really can’t take back, and Blaine says he’ll never forgive him with such fierce anger that Kurt believes him instantly. It makes him think that maybe Blaine shouldn’t forgive him, maybe he’s finally gone too far. He’s never seen this much pain and anger in Blaine’s eyes, about anything.

It’s kind of a relief, really, to discover that there’s actually a breaking point. It feels terrible.

After Blaine leaves the restaurant, Kurt sits there for a while, not moving, completely still. It feels like he’s not breathing, not blinking, like everything inside of him has shut down, but he must at least be breathing, because eventually the waiter comes over, and asks if him if he’d like to order.

He has no idea how to answer that.

The whole thing is completely unbelievable, and very, very real at the same time.

***

[Fic] A Map (written on your heart), Chapter 4

2016-04-12T17:54:31Z

Title: A Map (written on your heart)
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Kurt Hummel/Blaine Anderson
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,800
Chapter: 4 (of 7)
Warnings: This chapter mentions canonical character death.

Summary: The evolution of Kurt and Blaine, from the back seat of a car at Mr. Schue’s wedding, to Bushwick, to I am a work in progress. (Or, the one where Kurt Hummel becomes Kurt Hummel-Anderson, a decade earlier than planned.)

(Read previous chapters: 1, 2, 3 )

Also posted to AO3

May, 2014

When Rachel moves out, and Blaine moves back in, at first, it’s as if everything has been filtered through a lens of hope, of starting over, of this is where we belong, where we’re meant to be. It feels good – like they’re finally back on track, like they’ve finally arrived.

They incorporate some of Blaine’s ideas for interior design – which aren’t all horrible – and for the first time, it starts to feel like their apartment, not Kurt’s apartment, or Kurt-and-Rachel’s apartment, but theirs.

They go to the farmer’s market at Fort Green and buy fresh cut flowers, and organic vegetables, and homemade soap. They talk about painting the bathroom, just for fun. There’s not much to work with, with so much exposed brick, but Blaine comes up with some fairly ingenious ideas about fabric that might work for curtains, and then they could paint the trim to match, at least.

They watch art films at the Nighthawk, and go to plays, off Broadway and off-off Broadway, whatever they can afford and still manage to pay the rent on time. Sometimes they go dancing at the Pyramid Club, usually on 80’s night.

They try new restaurants – it’s much easier to get a reservation now that it’s just the two of them, and when Kurt works evening shifts at the diner, some nights Blaine takes a table at the back, alone, or with June in tow, until Kurt clocks out. On the subway, they hold hands and share one set of earbuds to block out the crazy homeless guy who won’t stop shouting, or the bible-thumpers handing out pamphlets and quoting scripture.

But there’s also a wedding to plan, and for it to happen by the beginning of September, there’s a lot that needs to be done in not a lot of time. The whole idea that this wedding really is happening, and happening soon, becomes much more solid, more real, as the days start to lengthen, and spring turns into summer.

For his part, Kurt spends a lot of time thinking about weddings in general, and not that much time thinking about their wedding, the one that’s staring both of them in the face, demanding time and attention and money. Instead, Kurt finds himself thinking about his dad and Carole – how they didn’t waste any time at all getting married after they met, and how perfect that had been for them.

He thinks about Rachel and Finn, too, remembers how fiercely opposed to their plan he’d been – not because he didn’t believe that they loved each other, or didn’t think they were right for each other, but because they were so young, because it felt like they were rushing into something because they couldn’t bear to let go.

He had felt so strongly about it at the time, can still feel the sting of it in his chest, sitting there at City Hall, waiting, wondering if he should be the speak now or forever hold your peace protestor, and knowing that in the end, he just couldn’t do that to Finn, or to Rachel.

He feels less strongly about it, now knowing that there hadn’t been another chance for them.

Kurt finds himself lost in nostalgic thought, sometimes, remembers watching Blaine lead the Warblers with such confidence and swagger, feeling proud and jealous, but mostly proud, that he’d somehow managed to get this boy’s attention and keep it. He remembers walking back to his car with Blaine, his heart jumping in his chest at the prospect of a few minutes pressed against the door with Blaine’s lips against his; remembers the thrill of holding hands with Blaine at the Lima Mall, giddy (and maybe a little anxious, too – this was Ohio, after all) at the thought of people seeing them together. He remembers the way Blaine used to call out to him over cups of coffee at the Lima Bean, so intent and focused, as if he didn’t stand out to Kurt like a bright, shining star already, as if it was even possible for Blaine to be in the same general vicinity as Kurt, and Kurt not notice.

And Kurt still feels all of those things for Blaine, but… It’s different, now. They’re engaged. There’s an endless list of things tied to that that need to happen - most of them should have been done, well, yesterday. They need to secure a venue for their wedding, so that they can send out invitations, so that the people they love can actually have enough time to plan a trip, so they can come and bear witness to their vows, to their love.

This is bigger than just the two of them, now. It’s jarring, thinking of it that way, knowing that this is actually happening – that they’re letting people in to see this, to witness this thing between them. It makes Kurt feel exposed in a way that he hasn’t been, up until now.

There’s something frantic in the way Blaine talks about the wedding, too, as if the event itself is the really important accomplishment here – getting to it, making it happen, making it perfect. And of course it has to be perfect – it’s their wedding, but he can’t shake the feeling that maybe it feels frantic because it is, because that’s what happens when you try to skip ahead, when all you allow yourself to see is the finish line.

Sometimes he wishes they could slow down, not necessarily to delay what’s inevitable for them, but to appreciate where they are right now.

**

It's late on a Friday night, and outside the club the air is almost cool. The night is inky black, no moon at all up in the sky, and of course there are no stars, because they’re in the middle of the city. Kurt is relaxed and happy, his limbs feather-light, free.

Under Kurt’s discerning eye, Blaine is profoundly beautiful in the glow of the streetlights. His cheeks are glowing, and his hair has long since escaped its gel-related confines. He’s confident and sexy and Kurt is overcome for a moment with pride. This man is his. Will be for a long, long time to come.

“We should go on a date,” Kurt says, apropos of nothing, draping his arm over Blaine’s shoulder, and breathing in deeply.

Blaine still smells good, even after two sweaty hours in a club where they’d danced and danced until Blaine had whispered in his ear that it was getting late, and shouldn’t they be getting back if they wanted to wake up at a reasonable time tomorrow morning. Kurt always complained about sleeping in, and tomorrow they had yoga at nine; he’d signed them up a week ago. Blaine had been right; it was getting late. And so they’d left – another couple of blocks and they’d be home.

“What do you mean, Kurt? A date with who?”

“With you,” Kurt says. He’d thought that was obvious, but he also doesn’t remember how many vodka tonics he’s had, which is to say, he’s a little drunk. This is probably not a thing he should bring up to Blaine when he’s drunk. “I’m talking about us.”

“Okay, well now you’ve got my attention,” Blaine says, and Kurt realizes he said most of that out loud.

“I was just thinking,” Kurt says. His mind feels fuzzy, and a little dangerous. “About dating. We haven’t really done that. Recently. Not for very long, at least.”

“I’m not following.”

“Never mind,” Kurt says, and ignores the confused, curious look on Blaine’s face, because to be honest, he’s not following either. His thoughts are all over the place, and he’s not sure he even wants to pin them down. Not when he could choose to just enjoy the rest of the evening, instead. The days have been warm lately, and the night air now is breezy and comfortable against his skin.

Before he knows it, they’re climbing the stairs to the loft. Blaine’s hand is warm and firm against the small of his back. Kurt doesn’t need help climbing the stairs – he’s not that far gone, but it’s nice, knowing that there’d be someone there to catch him anyway, if he lost his footing. When they get to the top of the landing, Blaine moves around him, unlocking the door, sliding it open, and closing it behind them.

The air upstairs in the loft is warm, it rolls over Kurt in waves, makes him unsteady on his feet, just for a second.

Blaine leads him to the bedroom, to the edge of the bed. Hangs up his jacket for him. He disappears into the kitchen and appears a second later with a glass of water. Kurt drinks it, and watches Blaine strip down to his boxers and socks. The light from the bedside lamp flickers over Blaine’s skin, as he pulls one of his soft sleep shirts on over his head. It’s grey, and well-worn, and makes Kurt think of countless nights spent curled up next to Blaine in bed, or on the couch, or on the floor, next to the couch, sometimes. Blaine looks perfect, and with no warning whatsoever, Kurt’s eyes fill with tears.

He’s too surprised to properly panic. He feels betrayed by his own thoughts, can feel them working their way to his lips. Everything feels jumbled up in his head. Rachel and Finn, sitting there at the courthouse, and Kurt, knowing they were wrong, knowing they were rushing when there was no reason to rush, except that maybe there was, because now Finn is gone. But at the time Kurt had looked at them and thought what’s wrong with dating, what’s wrong with enjoying each other and not pressuring yourself and risking all of it for a piece of paper and now that’s exactly what—

“Blaine,” Kurt says, and Blaine is right there, eyes wide, concern dancing across his features.

“Kurt, what’s wrong?”

“Do you think we should have dated?” Kurt asks. “For longer, I mean… Before...” Kurt makes a sweeping gesture with his hand. He means this room, New York, the past year. He means before we decided to get married.

“Kurt,” Blaine says, as he sits down next to him on the bed. “What are you talking about?”

Blaine’s face appears unguarded, tilted towards Kurt’s like this – as if he’s ready for anything.

Kurt doesn’t think he is – he thinks Blaine wants the same thing that he wants, which is to protect this, to protect them. He also thinks that Blaine knows exactly what he’s talking about.

He thinks Blaine knows that he’s thinking about last spring, about getting back together on a blindingly bright spring day at McKinley. About how quickly they’d gotten engaged and how there was nothing in between, no time or space or anything, even though Blaine had still been in high school. He wonders if Blaine knows that he’s been thinking about it for a while, has been thinking about how having this ring on his finger and going out, to a movie, or a play, or going dancing in a crowded club where they can press against each other in the darkness – it’s just not the same as dating.

It’s not the same as that feeling of coming alive in someone’s company, feeling electricity in their touch, in the sound of their voice, in the soft press of their skin. There’s something simple about dating, or at least that’s how he remembers it – something intimate and private, and not-stressful. Not like it is now, when every time they argue, every time Blaine looks at him, and he’s not achingly, uncomplicatedly happy, Kurt wonders if maybe they’ve made a mistake. It feels awful, having to think like that about the person you love most in the entire world.

He can’t say this to Blaine.

Kurt stares into Blaine’s face, into his eyes. He concentrates on them, on their steady permanence, even as the bed tilts and the room spins a little. He can’t tell Blaine that he thinks sometimes that maybe things would be better if they were just dating, or maybe even if they were engaged, but engaged as a sort of long term thing, not engaged, and planning a Labor Day wedding. He wonders if they’ve missed out on something big, something important, doing things the way they have.

Blaine’s eyes are worried. His hand is on Kurt’s knee. He brings his fingers up to touch Kurt’s cheek.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Blaine says.

“No,” Kurt says, and he’s leaning down, fumbling with his too-big fingers to untie his shoes.

“What did you mean about dating?”

Kurt’s heart is pounding in his chest. He doesn’t want to cry. Not right now, when he’s not sure when he’ll be able to stop, if he starts.

“I…” It’s no use. The tears start slowly. Blaine’s face makes everything worse – he looks so worried, and maybe a little scared.

Kurt thinks he knows and is surprised to find that he actually sort of believes it, believes that Blaine knows everything in his head, that he’s somehow become transparent, that everything he’s feeling is just written across his face, maybe.

“Kurt,” Blaine says, and his voice sounds broken, confused. “Just tell me what to do,” he says, as if there’s some physical action that can fix this.

Kurt stares at him. There’s nothing, he realizes, nothing Blaine can do, nothing Kurt can do either. They passed the point of no return a long time ago. He feels nostalgic for the choir room at McKinley, for the many-blazered halls of Dalton, for simpler times.

He tugs Blaine down with him on the bed, kisses him, deep, and a little messy. Alcohol always makes his tongue feel big and sloppy in Blaine’s mouth, but Kurt doesn’t really mind. He loves Blaine’s mouth, loves filling it up like this. He tastes him, probes his tongue deeper, waits for arousal to flood his veins.

“Kurt,” Blaine is saying, pulling away, trying to look at him. “Don’t you think you should tell me what’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on, I just… I’m sorry. I’m drunk and I’m being an idiot.”

“We can go on more dates if you want to go on more dates,” Blaine says quickly, the words spilling out over Kurt’s lips. “Going on dates with you is not a problem.”

Kurt smiles. “I know.”

“We can do anything you want, as many times as you want,” Blaine says, and then his face darkens. “But I wonder if there’s more to it than that.”

Kurt shakes his head. He doesn’t trust his voice.

Blaine’s face is closed off now, and it’s not an unfamiliar look, Kurt realizes. Blaine is protecting something, too. We’re the same, then, Kurt thinks, and the realization surges in his chest, like it’s a good thing.

“Okay, fine,” Blaine says finally, and buries his face in Kurt’s neck.

And then Blaine kisses him, and Kurt thinks it’s a dirty trick, how he can make the world turn upside down like this with his lips, and his fingers in Kurt hair, and his leg hooked over Kurt’s thighs, and then he moves, and Kurt thinks thank god because this is a thing he’s good at, even when he’s half-drunk and his words are dangerous, this isn’t. This is perfect.

This is Blaine removing every article of his clothing carefully, not pulling too hard on his vest because he knows it’s vintage and the third button is a little loose. This is Blaine sliding slim-fit, self-tailored denim down his legs slowly, and Kurt kicking them to the floor impatiently, as Blaine chuckles deep in his throat, and runs his palm over Kurt’s chest because he knows it will call every hair on Kurt’s body to attention. And that’s what Blaine wants, maybe – Kurt’s attention. You have it, Kurt thinks, but there’s a part of him that’s distracted, there’s a part of him that’s thinking of weddings and promises and choices and trust; there’s a part of him that’s scared.

**

Blaine is locked in on Labor Day for the wedding, and despite the long hours of sunlight and blazing-concrete heat, the days pass quickly. The loft is stuffy at night, and even worse during the day, no matter how long they run the window a/c unit at full blast.

Without really talking about it, Blaine becomes the Wedding Planner in full force, with appointments, and tasting menus, and well-researched opinions on everything from centerpieces to appetizer ingredients, and Kurt becomes…something else. He goes to the gym every morning, and picks up extra shifts at the diner, and doesn’t usually bring up Labor Day or the wedding unless Blaine does, first.

It’s Kurt’s second summer in New York, and this time around, there are no group dinners, no movie nights with Sam and Mercedes, or meeting friends for drinks after one of Rachel's shows. There’s no one crowding their space in the loft, no one vying for the right to camp out on their couch. There are other people they could hang out with – and they do, sometimes - but nothing really seems to stick, friendship-wise. There’s no one to share the sort of easy camaraderie that they had with their friends from Lima – everything takes more effort, requires more planning.

This time around, it’s just Kurt and Blaine, and it’s supposed to be perfect.

When the dates for NYADA’s fall placement auditions are announced, all the sudden it doesn’t feel like there are enough hours in the day to rehearse, to commute back and forth from work, to think about a wedding at all. Over the past year, Kurt has come to realize that he’s not very good at managing stress, he knows that he takes it out on the people around him, can see it in Blaine’s face when he snaps at him over breakfast, or at the end of the day, when Blaine makes an offhand comment about the number of text messages he’s sent that have gone unanswered.

This time around, Rachel isn’t there to tell Kurt he’s being an idiot when he’s being an idiot – he has to figure it out for himself, and sometimes it takes him days, and by then, Blaine has moved on, has forgotten about whatever stupid thing Kurt had said, or hadn’t said. It all starts to add up, this invisible tally of things so small he can’t apologize for, but so big that he can’t forget them.

Their lives start to feel very separate, and Kurt starts to feel a bit like he's been abandoned here, which is ridiculous, of course, because, Blaine is right here with him, so if he’s been abandoned, then they both have, and it should be okay because he shouldn’t need anyone else, he’s never needed anything other than Blaine. They’re supposed to be in this together.

**

“And you wonder why we don’t have any friends…” Kurt says one morning, leaning over Blaine’s shoulder in the bathroom, as he gently folds the towel over the towel rack. He can’t straighten it to his liking, because Blaine is in the way. He’ll do it later, he tells himself, and glances at Blaine’s reflection in the mirror.

In the end, they’d decided against painting, and they’d never gotten around to making curtains; the dark brick theme of the bathroom remains unchanged.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Kurt?”

Blaine’s expression has gone from confused to very nearly wounded, and Kurt rolls his eyes.

“What?”

“Are you saying I should have said yes?”

Kurt narrows his eyes. “That’s not what I said.”

“Okay, because I thought we were both in agreement that date night was sacred. I already made reservations.”

“We were… We are.” Kurt wonders when Blaine started to sound so much like his dad.

Blaine sighs. “But?”

“I don’t know, never mind.”

“Just say what you were going to say, Kurt.”

“It’s just that since Rachel and everyone left, it just feels a little…lonely, you know? I was just thinking that maybe we should take advantage of opportunities like this when they come along – try to expand our social circle a little more.”

Blaine’s expression goes slack for a moment. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, they’re both just standing there, frozen. It’s starting to make Kurt feel uncomfortable. He’s already starting to regret saying anything at all.

“It’s fine though,” Kurt says. “It’s not like this is the only time they’re going to have extra tickets.”

Blaine is quiet, and it’s starting to really irritate Kurt. He’s tired of feeling like they can’t even so much as have a difference of opinion anymore that doesn’t turn into a flight.

“Can you please stop looking at me like that. I said it’s fine.”

“You just said that you’re lonely.”

“Because I am!” Kurt has no idea why he’s raising his voice – he’s not even angry, he’s just tired of tiptoeing around Blaine, maybe. “Of course I’m lonely. My best friend and pretty much everyone we ever hung out with has moved out of the city. We’re marooned out here in Bushwick like—like orphans or something.”

Kurt can feel his face warming. He’s not really sure where that came from.

“Well, I’m here,” Blaine says, and pushes past him without meeting his eyes. “For whatever that’s worth.”

“Blaine, I didn’t mean--” Kurt says, trailing after Blaine, but when he starts to follow him into the bedroom, Blaine stops him.

“Can you please just give me a minute,” Blaine says, and his voice is steady, but Kurt can tell by the look on his face, by the way his eyes dart around him, looking anywhere but at his face that he’s hurt. Of course he is. Kurt doesn’t really blame him.

Kurt sits on the couch and idly pokes at his phone, listening to Blaine puttering around in the bedroom, listening to the street sounds from outside as they bleed in through the open window, par for the course on a weekday morning. A horn blares, and Kurt closes his eyes, trying to calm himself down. There’s no reason to be embarrassed about being honest. This is Blaine. He glances at the clock, just as Blaine appears in the living room.

“I thought you were meeting June for brunch?”

Blaine ignores the question, sits down next to Kurt with a serious look on his face.

“I didn’t mean to react like that.”

“It’s fine – you don’t have to apologize.”

“I’m not apologizing, I’m just-- Hearing you say that, it made me realize that I’ve been kind of lonely, too.”

Blaine is looking at him, his face wide open with emotion, and feeling. He wants to talk, of course he does, and Kurt just…doesn’t, he realizes. There is no part of him that wants to discuss his, or anyone else’s loneliness right now. He feels tense, and uptight, uncomfortable in his skin in a way that he hasn’t felt in forever. It’s not Blaine’s fault, but he also finds himself resenting the way Blaine is looking at him, resenting the fact that he’s looking at him at all.

“Okay, you know,” Kurt starts, hoping he can end this quickly. “I really didn’t mean to--“

“Kurt, I’m trying to say that I get it. You’re here,” Blaine says. “And that’s obviously great, but I miss our friends too. Of course I do.”

Kurt sighs, looks at Blaine. “I really wasn’t trying to pick a fight, Blaine.”

Blaine looks confused. “Are we fighting?”

“I don’t know, are we?”

“I thought we were just talking.”

Kurt lets out a tense breath. “Okay, if you say so.”

Blaine draws up his shoulders defensively. He looks hurt, again, and Kurt has to look away. He stares past Blaine, into the bathroom, where the curtains should be bringing out the color of the baseboard trim.

“I don’t understand why we can’t just have a conversation about this, Kurt. Can you at least look at me?”

Kurt glances quickly at Blaine. “I am looking at you, Blaine. I’m sitting right here, looking at you.”

“You’re not, you’re— never mind.” Blaine throws up his hands in an exaggerated show of exasperation that kind of makes Kurt want to scream. “I don’t even understand what we’re talking about anymore.”

“Then maybe you should just go meet June already.”

“Yeah,” Blaine says, shaking his head. “Fine. You’re right – I’m already late.”

“I’m sure she’s used to it,” Kurt says, gritting his teeth, ignoring the look Blaine gives him, which is pointed and dark.

He doesn’t say anything else, turns his attention back to his phone, and in another minute Blaine is gone. The door slides shut behind him, and the street sounds come back: traffic, and someone shouting something in a language Kurt pegs as Spanish, but is may be some more nuanced dialect from another place he’s never visited… Of course all that white noise had been there the whole time, though, Kurt thinks, he just hadn’t been listening.

**

Kurt feels awful for the rest of the day. He waits around for as long as he can for Blaine to get back from brunch, but eventually he has to leave for his shift at the diner. He texts Blaine on his way out, apologizes, citing general grumpiness, and stress, and gets a curt (no pun intended) reply back.

It’s fine Blaine says. Apology accepted.

It doesn’t feel much like acceptance though. It feels like Blaine has just given up, or at least, that he’s given up on the version of Kurt that’s incapable of having a conversation about the various shades of loneliness that this great city they live in seems so good at drawing out of them.

Kurt spends his time on the subway on the way to the diner feeling guilty, avoiding eye contact with anyone, because lately, he kind of feels like he’s walking around with the word asshole tattooed on his face.

He knows Blaine had been right to be angry. He’s not willing to have a conversation about this, or anything lately. It’s as if all the sudden, he can’t relate to Blaine, even about something like this, which is the exact sort of thing he’d normally trust Blaine to help him figure out. They should be able to be lonely and miss their friends in this huge city together.

It scares him - losing his temper, not being able to see eye to eye on small things, or big things, it all feels the same, lately. He doesn’t know how to make this right, because isn’t sure where the common ground is anymore. He’s afraid to look too closely, maybe.

It’s the wedding, he thinks. It makes every fight they have feel noteworthy, makes every disagreement feel like another tick in some column somewhere, reminding him that they’re not perfect – that maybe they’re not even compatible as roommates, let alone anything else.

Everything feels bigger and more important when the phrase trial run looms on the periphery. Blaine is late meeting him for coffee, twice in a row, and it feels like a referendum on their entire relationship. Petty arguments in the apartment, tripping over Blaine’s shoes in the dark because he refuses to use the shoe rack, again - everything starts to feel like one, big, stupid metaphor highlighting how utterly different Blaine is from Kurt, and vice versa.

Kurt feels so far away from Blaine, sometimes, even when they’re in the same room together. He feels detached, stuck in his own head, and he’s sure there’s a way to snap back, to just feel the things he feels for Blaine, to go back to that, and to put everything in perspective, but he can’t seem to get there, it always feels just slightly out of reach. If anything, he feels like he’s losing perspective, that the distance between them is growing as the summer stretches on.

Nothing is going according to plan, and Kurt honestly has no idea anymore – if they’ve arrived, if this is actually where they’re meant to be. He loves Blaine, but this is hard and he can list off all the excuses in the world to explain why – but none of them make it any easier.

They’re getting married, and Kurt should be in his element, should be at his absolute best. He knows that he needs to be, that Blaine deserves nothing less, but lately, he can’t help but feel like he’s failing. And Kurt can’t be at his best when he feels like he’s failing, he knows he can’t.

By the time he arrives at the diner for his shift, he’s come to a conclusion - something has to change, and soon. He just wishes he knew where to start.

[Fic] Here, beneath my lungs

2016-04-06T17:41:03Z

Title: Here, beneath my lungs
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Kurt Hummel/Blaine Anderson
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,570
Summary: Blaine is really glad that Kurt called. Episode tag for 4x8, Thanksgiving.
Notes: I rewatched 4x8 last night, and this happened. There’s some angst, some texting, a tiny bit of hope and forgiveness, maybe.

Read on AO3

You were never supposed to leave
Now my head's splitting at the seams
And I don't know if I can

Here, beneath my lungs
I feel your thumbs
Press into my skin again

---Welcome Home, Son - Radical Face

**

“You know, for just having lost sectionals to the Warblers, you don’t look too broken up about it,” Sam says, sidling up to Blaine backstage. “Did something happen?”

Blaine can barely contain himself. It feels like the first time he’s smiled in weeks, months, years, maybe – he’s lost count. He can feel it thrumming through his whole body now though. He’d almost forgotten how wonderful Kurt could make him feel. How all-encompassing it is. That’s probably why he’s been piddling around, first at his locker, and now backstage, for the past ten minutes. He barely even has anything to pack up, but he keeps getting distracted. He couldn’t care less about losing sectionals. Obviously, he hopes Marley is okay, but… He beams at Sam.

“Kurt,” he says. “He called.”

“And?”

Blaine stares at him, a little blankly. “He called, Sam. It’s the first real contact I’ve had with him in weeks. Two days ago he told me to stop contacting him because--"

No. He doesn’t want to think about what Kurt said two days ago, or last week, or last month, he wants to think about what Kurt said an hour ago, because an hour ago, Kurt said that he missed him, and oh… Blaine’s heart lurches in his chest all over again.

“Never mind, the point is: he called. And then just now, I called him. Just for like, two seconds, to let him know what happened with sectionals, because it was so crazy, and it was just sort of…normal, between us.”

Blaine had still been kind of reeling – is still reeling, now-- from the performance, from Kurt. He’d been a little high on adrenaline. Maybe a lot. A text probably would have been sufficient, but he really wanted to hear Kurt’s voice again, and, well, he had a good excuse, and he went for it.

Kurt, we lost, he blurted out as soon as he heard Kurt’s voice.

Oh no! Kurt said, and Blaine heard muffled sounds in the background, glasses clinking, and then quiet, like Kurt had gone somewhere more private. What happened?

He told a quick version of the story then - Marley passing out, the bizarre rule, the Warblers winning.

Yes, I gave her one of my juice boxes, he said, a smile spreading across his face, when Kurt asked. I think she’s okay now.

Then Finn and Mr. Schue had called them all back to the choir room for an emergency meeting, and he’d had to hang up, and Kurt had said talk to you soon like he actually meant it, and now it was, well…now.

“Dude, are you crying?” Sam asks, and Blaine realizes that Sam’s been staring at him for a while. “Do you want me to get Tina, or--”

Sam looks a little worried. His eyes are darting around nervously.

Blaine swipes at his face, and he’s laughing, and yeah, maybe he’s crying a little too, but it doesn’t matter. He’s going to be fine.

“Yesterday I thought I might not talk to him again, ever, and tonight we made plans for Christmas, Sam. He said he misses me.”

Sam grins back at him then. “Of course he does.”

Blaine’s head has been going over and over their pre-performance conversation on some kind of crazy loop since it happened, latching on to different details each time. There’s a part of him that wants to sabotage this, he can feel it creeping in – it tells him yeah, he said he misses you, but he also hasn’t forgiven you and he probably never will and Blaine’s sure there are much harsher words than that coming, but he’s used to it. Now that he has something to go on, now that there’s something between them that’s positive and not completely awful, he thinks maybe he can push the rest aside.

“I’m really happy for you,” Sam says. He claps him on the shoulder. “You need to stop that whole crying and laughing at the same time thing though – it’s creeping me out.”

“Sorry,” Blaine says. “I’m kind of all over the place, I guess.”

“It’s cool, I get it,” Sam says. “I know how badly you want this to work.”

“He hasn’t forgiven me,” Blaine says, focusing on Sam. “He… He said he’s not there yet, but that means he’s at least thinking about it, right?”

“Probably?”

“And he picked up the phone when I called just now. That’s a good sign.”

“Definitely a good sign,” Sam says, with a knowing grin.

Blaine shakes his head. “Sorry, I’ll shut up. We should get out of here.”

They walk out to the parking lot together. Blaine has to flash the lights on his key fob to find his car. It feels like another lifetime ago that he parked it out here.

After he and Sam have said their goodbyes, and Blaine is alone in the car, he thinks he can actually hear his heart pounding in his chest. He can definitely feel it. He has no idea how he’s going to sleep tonight. He doesn’t care. Nothing can touch him, tonight. Not even insomnia. Bring it on, he thinks, boldly. His parents are out of town – he’d told them a long time ago that he was planning to go to New York for Thanksgiving, and so they planned a weekend getaway without him. He’d never bothered to let them know that his plans had changed, and he’s fine with that. He can’t be with Kurt tonight, and if he can’t be with Kurt, he doesn’t want to be with anyone. For the first time in forever, he almost feels like himself again.

He breathes deeply. The air doesn’t feel heavy or oppressive in his lungs, it just feels like air. This has been the best, most unimaginably wonderful day; he doesn’t want it to end.

He hasn’t started the car yet. He takes a deep breath, and then another, tries to clear his head. Tries to sweep it clean for a moment, so that he can focus on getting himself home in one piece, instead of this constant stream of Kurt called, he called, and he said he misses me, that he loves— And then Blaine is right back where he started because he had honestly convinced himself that he would never hear those words from Kurt again. That he’d never get to say them again. That he wouldn’t be allowed to. The fact that he did get to say them, that Kurt said them back is, well, it’s sort of everything to Blaine. It means he’d been right. He belongs with Kurt. They belong together, and they’re going to be together, again, are going to build their lives together, and grow old together, and Blaine swears that he’ll die before anything ever gets in the way of that again.

The breaths he takes now are shaky, a little uneven. He’s crying. Not the kind of quiet tears that sprung up before, when he was talking to Sam, but huge shuddering sobs that feel like they’re being wrung from somewhere deep inside of him. He tries not to let himself cry like this on school nights because when he does, his eyes get puffy and red, and it lingers - it doesn’t go away by the morning, no matter what he tries. It’s always so hard to stop though, after he’s started. He’s beyond happy that Kurt had called, but it’s a little overwhelming, too. He’s spent a good percentage of the past two months just trying to hold it together. At school, at choir practice, with the musical. It’s felt a bit like he’s been holding his breath, ever since that night in the park with Kurt.

He leans forward over the steering wheel and buries his face in his arms. He misses Kurt so much. He missed him before all of this, before he decided to ruin everything and hurt the one person who had ever actually been there for him. At the time, he’d thought it was the worst thing he’d ever felt – knowing that Kurt’s life was moving forward without him, all that distance. He knows now that he’d been wrong, because missing Kurt now, when he’s not sure if he’ll ever get to hold him in his arms again, and knowing that it’s all his fault… It’s more painful than Blaine had ever thought anything could be.

Sometimes he wonders if this feels so horrible because it’s sort of like all of his awful feelings from before have been compounded exponentially – now he misses his boyfriend and his best friend and his ex-boyfriend, and while sure, they’re all the same person, Blaine really wishes he could go back to that time in his life when he was just missing one of those Kurts, and not all of them, all the time.

But Kurt had called. Kurt had called because he misses him. And he believes that Blaine is sorry, which is almost like he’s accepted Blaine’s apology, and god, hearing Kurt make that tiny little throwaway joke, about the mouse, hearing him talk about things like hot chocolate and ice skating… It was the first time in such a long time that Blaine had felt okay, that it had felt okay, between them.

Blaine tries to hold on to that moment, to ground himself. Hot chocolate, mouse, Lima Bean – he repeats the words quietly a couple of times, like a mantra, until his breath is steady again. He dries his eyes. He needs to get out of here, needs to drive home. He can do this.

And he does. He starts the car, and he drives, and he makes it home just fine.

He pulls into the driveway, and walks up the steps, locks the door behind him, and blinks into the empty hallway. Everything in his house looks a little different tonight – brighter, and sharper, like everything has suddenly been brought into focus. He’s been wandering around in such a fog lately, but right now, everything feels pretty clear. He can see a path forward for himself, through all of this. It feels like a really simple thing – of course there was always a path through, but until right now, Blaine isn’t sure he actually believed it.

He sits on the edge of his bed, and doesn’t move right away, not to take off his coat, or his shoes, or to hang his bag on the closet door. He thinks about calling Kurt, but he’s already done that, and he doesn’t want to push it. He’s pretty sure he should just quit while he’s ahead, but… Kurt has opened the door, just a little, for him - if he doesn’t at least try to keep it open, he knows he’ll regret it. And he’s just not sure he can handle any more regrets when it comes to Kurt. He has to try everything. He’s tried apologizing and that hasn’t worked, so maybe friendship is the answer - they were friends before they’d been anything else, and so maybe they can be that, again, at least for now, at least for tonight. It’s worked pretty well so far. He has to keep trying.

His stomach clenches and his fingers are a little jittery, but he grabs his phone, anyway, imagines Kurt, imagines the loft, with its high ceilings and weird Broadway-bohemian Brooklyn décor. He wonders what Kurt is doing now, allows himself to picture him for a moment, but all his mind can come up with is an image of Kurt from the last time he saw him – eyes sad, his shoulders squared up and defensive, like he needed to protect himself from Blaine. It had been so awful, and uncomfortable and wrong and Blaine hasn’t really stopped feeling terrible about the fact that Kurt had come all the way back to Lima, and then left with that look on his face because of him. He closes his eyes. None of that matters tonight, he tells himself. Because he can turn this around. Right now. He sucks in a breath. He tries not to overthink it, just types.

BLAINE: Kurt, I know you told me I need to stop texting you, but I’m hoping you’ll make an exception for holiday messages?

BLAINE: I just want you to know how grateful I am that you called. Thank you for talking to me. The silence was driving me a little crazy. So thank you. I love you, Kurt, more than you can imagine.

BLAINE: And I know how vivid your imagination is, so that’s saying something.

BLAINE: Oh, and if it turns out there’s no holiday reprieve in effect, then please delete these messages, and pretend this never happened ;)

Blaine hits send on the last message and closes his eyes, just breathes for a couple long seconds. He’s not going to reread the messages, because he knows if he does he’ll only find something that makes him feel like an idiot, something he should have edited out, and—His phone buzzes.

KURT: I’m grateful too.

Blaine stops breathing for a second. He’s not sure what he expected, but it really wasn’t this, at least not so quickly. He waits. Starts to think that that’s it, maybe, starts to compose a response, and then:

KURT: I wasn’t sure if you’d pick up when I called before. I’m glad you did.

BLAINE: Always, Kurt. I’ll always pick up.

KURT: Well, Happy Thanksgiving, again.

KURT: And I’m really sorry about sectionals – Rachel says so, too.

BLAINE: Thanks, Kurt (and Rachel) :)

Blaine’s hands are shaking, maybe his whole body, too. It’s like when he’s had way too much coffee, but he actually hasn’t had any coffee today. He forces himself to untie his shoes, and take off his coat, just for something to do, so that he doesn’t implode – or jitter himself right off the bed, or something. Everything feels a little surreal, he thinks for one awful moment that maybe he’s dreaming, but then he remembers sectionals and Marley and Sam, and his phone ringing backstage, and yeah, he’s pretty sure that this day has actually happened.

He lies back on the bed, stares at his phone. Blaine heard something once about how you’re not supposed to be able read words in a dream, and he’s read through Kurt’s messages about a dozen times in the last two minutes, so he thinks this is another good sign. This is contact, after all, this is the thing that’s eluded him for an eternity, and Kurt had initiated it, Kurt called. And then his phone buzzes again.

KURT: This isn’t a holiday reprieve, by the way. I never actually said not to text me.

KURT: Just to set the record straight, so that you understand my rationale… Every time you apologize, it forces me to think about things I’d rather not dwell on, at least not all the time.

KURT: I’d rather think about how nice it is to be able to talk to my best friend again.

BLAINE: I understand, Kurt

BLAINE: But this is okay? Minus the apologies?

KURT: This is okay.

KURT: I still can’t believe you guys got disqualified from sectionals.

BLAINE: It was pretty awful. I guess Marley hadn’t eaten for like, days or something. None of us had any idea.

KURT: That’s crazy – poor kid. I’m so sorry it ended up that way. I know how hard you guys worked for this.

BLAINE: Yeah, it sucks, but…

KURT: But?

BLAINE: Well, I’m talking to you now, and I got to hear your voice before, twice, so… No matter what, it’s pretty much a red letter day for me.

He waits. Nothing happens for what feels like forever and Blaine wonders if he’s gotten ahead of himself. Maybe this is too much, maybe--

KURT: I’m happy, too

BLAINE: I’m SO happy, Kurt. I’m happy that you’re happy.

KURT: I’d say that I’m happy that you’re happy that I’m happy, but that may be a little over the top?

BLAINE: Kurt Hummel, over the top? Never ;)

KURT: Okay, well, I better go back out there and make sure Rachel’s okay – we’re still cleaning up the apartment. Isabelle has a LOT of friends.

BLAINE: Okay, have fun – don’t work too hard.

KURT: I’ll do my best. I’m pretty beat, to be honest. So much for a quiet Thanksgiving.

KURT: Anyway. Good night, Blaine.

BLAINE: Good night, Kurt. Sleep well :)

KURT: You too

Blaine stares down at his phone for a long time. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed something as simple as being able to say good night to Kurt, but, well – it feels unbelievably wonderful, now. Like there had been this massive void right in front of him that he hadn’t even noticed, and this just fills it up completely. His mind is racing, but underneath it all, there’s this feeling of rightness that Blaine hasn’t felt, honestly, since Kurt left for New York. He wasn’t sure he’d ever feel it again. He certainly hadn’t expected anything like today to happen.

But Kurt never fails to surprise Blaine, after all. It’s one of the many things Blaine loves about him. He was afraid it would never happen again, those moments when Kurt says something, or looks at him a certain way and Blaine is just completely overwhelmed. Kurt’s managed it a few times today, and they’re not even in the same state. Kurt just feels present in a way that he hasn’t for what’s felt like an eternity to Blaine. It was a bit like he’d just vanished into thin air that night in the park. Before that, maybe. And all the good things that Kurt had brought into Blaine’s life, all the ways that Kurt had made Blaine feel loved, and appreciated - they’d all vanished with him.

There’s a huge lump in Blaine’s throat, and when he closes his eyes, he can feel hot tears behind them, right there, even now.

There’s nothing that Blaine needs to hold back tonight – he knows that. He has the house to himself, he’s not going anywhere tomorrow, and he’s held it together for so long, this whole time, when Kurt wouldn’t talk to him, wouldn’t pick up his calls or answer his texts – Blaine was okay. He came to school, he played his part. Honestly, he didn’t do it because he felt okay, he did it because he was afraid that if he didn’t, things might spiral to a place he couldn’t find his way out from.

Lately, he’s felt like some kind of imposter in his own skin – he doesn’t like the person he sees in the mirror, can’t stand thinking that this is how the world sees him. It’s like he’s been turned inside out, and laid bare, like all of the awful things he’s been holding inside of him are out on parade now, out for everyone to see, when for years they’d been hidden, crowded back behind his eyes or his skin or his voice. Everything is suddenly transparent now though. There’s nowhere for him to hide, anymore.

Blaine takes a deep breath. Yeah, it’s been getting a little scary in there, lately.

He’s really glad Kurt called.

He’d been planning on taking a shower tonight– had felt so amped up earlier that he was sure there was no way he’d get any sleep, but now, he realizes that he’s actually really tired. Maybe the shower can wait until the morning. His arms and legs feel lead-heavy, suddenly… It takes some effort to rid himself of his outer layers of clothing.

When he slides his bare legs under the covers, it feels like heaven.

He closes his eyes, thinks of Kurt, and tries not to cry, because tonight, of all nights, he thinks, maybe he doesn’t have to do this. It is kind of therapeutic though, in a strange way, and Blaine finds his mind running along the same patterns as usual. Blaine thinks of Kurt, remembers everything all at once - his touch, his smell, his eyes – he reminds himself what an idiot and a coward he’s been for ruining this, and then the tears start. There’s a familiar hitch in his chest as he tries to breathe through it, as he hugs his knees to his chest in the darkness.

This time though, Blaine also thinks of Kurt’s voice, not from a million years ago, his voice from today. It’s almost like Kurt’s there, like he would be, if he could, and Blaine knows that might not technically be true, but he can feel it anyway. He feels protected. From himself, from the world, from everything he’s been feeling.

I miss you like crazy.

I love you, too.

There’d been a little lilt in Kurt’s voice, like he’d surprised himself, maybe, saying those words. Blaine wonders if he’ll ever know how much they mean to him, tonight. He sniffles. Thank you, he thinks. Thank you for still caring. Please don’t ever stop.

He closes his eyes. When he sees Kurt’s face this time, Kurt is smiling. He’s happy. Happy that you’re happy that I’m happy, maybe. Something like that, anyway.

It’s enough, Blaine thinks. It’s more than enough.

He can work with this.

END

[Fic] A Map (written on your heart), Chapter 3

2016-03-29T17:52:37Z

Title: A Map (written on your heart)
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Kurt Hummel/Blaine Anderson
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 5,241
Chapter: 3 (of 7)
Warnings: This chapter mentions canonical character death.

Summary: The evolution of Kurt and Blaine, from the back seat of a car at Mr. Schue’s wedding, to Bushwick, to I am a work in progress. (Or, the one where Kurt Hummel becomes Kurt Hummel-Anderson, a decade earlier than planned.)

(Read Chapter 1, Chapter 2)

Also posted to AO3

April, 2014

It’s finally spring, and the city is thawing out, opening its windows after months of being shut up behind closed doors. There’s grass in the park up the street, bright green and beautiful in the sun, and the last time Kurt walked through Central Park, there were flowers blooming along the reservoir. Everything around him feels bright and sunny and new.

There’s a plum blossom tree on the way to the subway that Kurt takes a picture of on his way to class one morning. The pink flowers are brilliant in the early morning light. Even on his cell phone, the contrast against the light blue of the sky is striking. He’s one touch away from sending the image to Blaine, before he stops himself.

It’s not that he expects Blaine will read anything into it, or that there’s really anything to read into in the first place, but… A month ago, this was a tree on their block, on their way to the train, on their way to school. It’s something else now, and that realization brings a lump to Kurt’s throat, and a wave of longing that he has a hard time shaking off.

Blaine has assured Kurt that he's okay with all of this – has reminded him that it was his decision to move out in the first place, that this will make them stronger in the long run. Kurt believes this, too, and he’s grateful to Rachel, and to his dad, and to everyone else, for how easy they’ve made this on them, for how little explaining they’ve had to do.

But sometimes none of that matters. Even if Kurt still sees Blaine all the time, and talks to him all the time, and even if objectively speaking, it’s just this one thing between them that’s changed - sometimes it just hurts, not having him around.

**

“I know it’s probably not my place to say this,” Rachel says, sliding the door to the loft open. “But I really kind of miss Blaine.”

“Rachel,” Kurt warns, but there’s no real bite to it, though part of him really does hope she’ll just drop it.

He’s had a hard enough time convincing himself that this self-imposed distance between them is working, let alone someone else. Let alone Rachel, who will see through him in about two seconds.

She tosses her purse (Kate Spade from last season - not one of Kurt’s favorites) onto the couch and collapses down next to it.

“I know, I know - I’m sorry,” Rachel tells him, her face sympathetic. “But you have to admit, he gives the best shoulder rubs.”

Kurt smiles at that, hangs his jacket by the door.

“Makes the best hot chocolate, too,” he reminds her. He watches as she closes her eyes, as if she’s reveling in the memory.

“Oh my god, yes. Even if I did have to remind him twice to make mine with almond milk.”

Kurt sighs as he joins Rachel on the couch. There are a lot of things that Blaine is very good at, and Kurt misses every single one of them, every single day.

“Sometimes I think I should just tell him to move back in, already.”

There’s a surprising little thrill that rushes up in Kurt’s chest, just saying those words out loud.

Rachel kicks off her shoes and tucks her feet up next to Kurt’s. “So why don’t you?”

“Really, Rachel?”

“What?”

Her eyes are wide and innocent, and Kurt just shakes his head.

“It’s not that easy.”

“Why not? I know you miss him too.”

“Of course I do,” Kurt says quickly, and sure enough, there’s Blaine puttering around in the kitchen, rearranging the wine glasses or the serving spoons or the measuring bowls for the third time in as many days, or apologizing against Kurt’s earlobe in the middle of the night, because he knows that no matter how quiet he is when he gets up to pee, Kurt will always wake up.

Yes, there are quite a few very specific things that Kurt misses about Blaine right now. And he still has those things, of course, just not quite so easily, not every day, or every night, not right next to him, not right now.

“Missing Blaine is just… It’s not the point,” Kurt says finally, blinking at Rachel. “The point is that we decided we were going to do this right, this time.”

“It’s really very mature of you.” Rachel nods, raises her eyebrows in appreciation.

“Thank you,” he says, though the last thing he feels anymore is good about this decision.

He glances at the clock. Late, he thinks, and lets out a long breath. He’s tense, and he’s tired, and it’s not just because he’s spent the day racing around the city, from class to rehearsal, and back to class again. Fighting with Blaine every day had been exhausting, but this cautious uncertainty that seems to creep into his every thought is exhausting too. He shakes his head, looks up at Rachel.

“Honestly, I have no idea what we’re doing. I mean, we promised each other that we wouldn’t go backwards. But that’s exactly what this is, right?”

“I don’t know, Kurt. Maybe,” she admits, and then quickly turns to face him. “But that doesn’t mean it’s a permanent thing! It doesn’t mean you can’t fix it.”

“I don’t understand why we can’t stop screwing everything up,” Kurt says, and the look that flashes across Rachel’s face makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. “Please don’t look at me like that. This relationship has been screwed up about as long as it hasn’t by now.”

“That’s not true.” Rachel’s eyes soften, she nudges Kurt with her shoulder. “Honestly, I’ve always thought you guys were perfect together.”

The statement sounds so honest, so pure, and Kurt really, really wants to believe it. He does believe it, he realizes. He’s just not sure if believing is enough.

He sniffles – there are frustrated tears just under the surface, threatening. They’ve been there ever since Rachel said Blaine’s name, and started this whole thing.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admits. “Sometimes I feel like he’s waiting for me to tell him he can come back, like I’ve sent him away for bad behavior or something.”

“But he seems happy at Mercedes’ place, right?”

“Of course he seems happy.” Kurt lets out a bitter laugh. “If I have to listen to him tell me one more time how wonderful and perfect and convenient it is living in Prospect Park, I’m going to strangle him.”

“Well, hopefully it won’t come to that.”

Kurt sucks in a long breath, trying to pull himself together. He stares at Rachel, wishing she would just tell him what he wants to hear already, even though he’s not even sure what that is anymore. He’s frustrated with himself for not being able to figure this out, and with Blaine, too, for acting like this is all going so well, like he couldn’t be happier.

“I really love him, Rachel,” Kurt says, trying to keep his voice steady. “And he’s so good. He’s a good person, and he’s really good for me. Whatever’s going on with us now, that doesn’t change the fact that he knows me, and gets me, and that we’re great together, right? Please tell me I’m not crazy.”

“You’re only a little crazy,” Rachel teases. “And Blaine is the best for you. You don’t need me to tell you that.”

Rachel grabs his hand and squeezes it, and the look in her eyes is thoughtful, maybe even a little wise-beyond-her-years, if he squints. Rachel is a lot of things, but Kurt knows that she’s also an observant friend, and she’s known Kurt and Blaine a long time. She’s seen them through good and bad times before.

“And in the long run,” Rachel says, squeezing his hand again, “I don’t think it’s going to matter how many fights you had about rehearsals running late, or what to cook for dinner, or anything else. And I don’t think it’s going to matter that you lived apart for a few months back when you were engaged. What matters is that you love each other. Right?”

Kurt nods, but doesn’t trust his voice right away.

“Right now, I think you just need to relax, and let it go. See how you both feel a few weeks from now.”

“Yeah,” Kurt says finally. “You’re probably right.”

“I’m always right,” Rachel says, smiling wide, and Kurt thinks that for once, he won’t roll his eyes, he’ll just go ahead and believe her. “And you know, he really loves you, too.”

Kurt just nods, and is surprised to find her studying him seriously.

“At the hospital,” she says, “before you woke up, you know he never left your side for a second. Sam had to remind him to eat. Brought him these horrible little donut things from the vending machine.”

Kurt smiles a little. Blaine had been so sweet and caring and gentle, afterwards. It’s pretty much the only thing worth smiling about, when it comes to those couple of days. “He told me he was ready to say he was my brother, if anyone gave him any trouble.”

It was one of the first things Blaine had said to him after he woke up. Kurt’s memory from that day is a cloudy haze of dull pain and too-bright lights, and Blaine, promising he’d be right there, assuring Kurt that he wasn’t going anywhere, no matter what. He’d made Kurt promise to corroborate his brother story, should it come to that. It hadn’t, but Blaine’s determination had surprised him - had impressed him, really.

“Well, he barely said a word to any of us,” Rachel says. “He was completely focused on you. I think he would have stayed there for a week if he had to.”

Kurt tries to blink them away, but it doesn’t work - he has to wipe a couple of tears from his cheek as he tries to smile. “Are you sure you’re trying to make me feel better?”

“Just trying to give you a little perspective.”

“Thanks,” Kurt says, leaning into her embrace as she wraps her arms around his shoulders, warm and solid, and exactly what he needs. “I have no idea what I’d do without you sometimes.”

**

Keeping things in perspective is a lot easier said than done, of course.

It’s a Sunday night, and they’re at one of Rachel’s never-ending Broadway after-parties. Kurt has probably had one too many glasses of champagne, and conveniently, Blaine doesn't seem to have much of an off-switch lately either.

He’s not sloppy-drunk yet, just a little, and just a little, as it happens, turns Kurt on a lot. The way Blaine gets all handsy with him in public drives him crazy, and the way his eyes go dark when Kurt runs a hand up his thigh under the table just makes him want to do more, to go further.

The back booth of the bar isn't quite as dark as they'd like it to be, but neither of them really hesitate, they both just lean in to each other's faces after a while and go at it. It's messy and noisy, and when Kurt slides his hand up and under the edge of Blaine's polo shirt he feels Blaine's stomach clench under his fingers and it's like a shot of adrenaline in Kurt's veins. He wants--

"Shit, Kurt," Blaine is saying, against his chin, his neck. It's making Kurt dizzy, the feel of Blaine's breath, the warmth of his hands on his waist.

And then Blaine is pulling him up and out of the booth, and Kurt realizes that they're going to do this in a public restroom and wow, the things that does to him right now - it's a little scary. He tries to remember how many drinks he's had, because the room is kind of spinning, but Blaine has his hand, has his arm around Kurt’s waist, and he’s weaving them fairly efficiently through the sea of people between their table and the back of the bar.

And then they're in the bathroom, and Kurt's thinking they need to be careful, discreet – but then his back is pressed up against the stall door and Blaine hands are all over him, and it’s really hard to think straight.

Before he can even fumble the door locked behind his back, Blaine's hands are deftly undoing his belt, and then Blaine is on his knees. The universe tilts on its axis then, and Kurt just closes his eyes to it, tries to ground himself. But Blaine is going all out down there and it's making fireworks go off all over Kurt's body. He's trembling for god's sake - it's like his whole body is humming, or god, no, that's Blaine, and he's so close and--

"Oh my god," Kurt says as he opens his eyes and tries to breathe. Suddenly he sees this situation for what it is.

Really, really hot, he'll give Blaine that, because staring down at this man on his knees, polo shirt unbuttoned all the way to the second button, face flushed, his tongue darting out of that pretty, pretty mouth is nothing if not hot - but it's also just so dirty. And not in a good way.

"Oh god, I can't do this in here," Kurt says, stumbling a little as he tries to pull up his pants. Blaine reluctantly stands up, and like a magnet, attaches himself to Kurt's side, breathing against his neck, lips brushing against his earlobe.

"It is a little gross," Blaine says with a sigh that sends a chill down Kurt's spine.

"Yeah, let's go home," Kurt says, and the second the word is out of his mouth he freezes. Blaine does too, Kurt feels his body tense against him. "I mean-- We should-- Your place is--"

"Yeah," Blaine says quickly. “Okay.” And he's reaching around Kurt to unlock the door before Kurt is even able to focus on his face. "I'll go first."

The rest of the bathroom is still empty. As far as Kurt knows, no one else has come in, but he still appreciates Blaine's attempt at decency. Or he would, if the fake smile on Blaine's face didn't feel like a very sharp knife lodged in his chest.

"I’ll meet you outside." Kurt keeps hearing Blaine’s voice in his head, even after the door closes behind him.

The wave of utter sadness that washes over Kurt in the next moment is almost enough to make his knees weak. He knows he's had a little too much to drink tonight, but what he's feeling now is sobering, if anything. He suddenly wishes they’d gone in for another round. Because it hits him right then. Blaine isn't home anymore. They had broken that, and he's not even sure why anymore. But the look in Blaine's eyes just now, that horrible fake smile... It's too much.

Kurt quickly tucks everything back into place, and pushes open the stall door. He doesn't bother glancing in the mirror; he knows he’s a mess.

Outside the bathroom, he starts to make his way through the sea of people again, and suddenly Rachel is there.

"I just saw Blaine," she says, standing in front of him, looking exhausted, but in that happy, post-performance blissed out way that Kurt hasn’t felt in forever. “He was on his way outside.”

“Hey." Rachel grabs his hand a second later. "You okay? You look...not-okay."

"I'm fine," Kurt says, forcing a smile. "Too much champagne."

She grins, like he’s let her in on a secret. "Well, as long as Blaine gets you home in one piece, I won't tell anyone..."

**

He finds Blaine outside - around the corner from the crowd of smokers gathered around the front entrance. He’s sitting on his heels, rocking back and forth a little, full of nervous energy. His expression is blank. When he hears Kurt's voice, he bounces up.

"Everything okay? I was about to come look for you," Blaine says, leaning in with concern. A hand on Kurt’s shoulder. A glint in Blaine's eyes that says are we okay and the wave of sadness is back, because since when does Blaine have to wonder that so much Kurt can recognize it on his face, in his eyes.

"I'm fine. Ran into Rachel," Kurt explains. He doesn't know what else to say. Suddenly, out here in the brisk night air everything seems exposed. He's not sure why that's so terrifying, but it makes him keep his mouth shut all the same.

"So, um--"

"Your place is closer," Kurt says without meeting Blaine's eyes. "And I don't have class until ten."

"Okay," Blaine says. He opens his mouth, closes it. Paints on a smile. "Let's go then."

"Don't," Kurt says when Blaine tries to weave their fingers together. They stop in the middle of the sidewalk. A tall guy in a leather jacket jostles past them, smelling like a liquor store. Blaine just stares at Kurt, resigned, hurt.

"Okay, this," Kurt says. "This how I want you to look at me." Confusion flashes over Blaine's face. "Don't ever fake a smile at me again, okay? I can tell. I can always tell. And it hurts."

Kurt's realizes that he's crying. Ugly wet tears are dripping off his nose, his chin. He swipes the back of his hand across his face angrily.

"I'm sorry," Blaine is saying. "I'm trying really hard to--"

"Well, I don't want you to try, okay? I want you to be honest with me."

Kurt realizes that he's raising his voice, that he sounds shrill and panicky, which he figures is fine, because that's exactly how he feels right now.

"This is me being honest, Kurt. I’m sorry, but I don't think I know what you want from me."

"I want you to tell me when something is wrong. If I hurt you. If I’m wrong about something important, I want you to tell me."

"Okay. I think I do that. Or at least I try to."

They're walking again, making progress towards Blaine's place, and Kurt wipes the last of the tears off his face, trying to keep it together. Trying not to be that couple, fighting on the street in the middle of the night.

"I'm tired of you putting such a positive spin on everything," Kurt says, as they climb the stairs to Mercedes' walk-up.

"Okay..."

"It's your worst quality," Kurt mumbles.

Recognition blooms on Blaine's face. "Hey, isn't that from--"

They’d seen If/Then on Broadway a few weeks ago with Rachel - it’s a stupid quote, and Kurt kind of hates how quickly Blaine gets the reference. How it disarms him, just a little, because it feels familiar, and safe and easy. It’s everything Kurt has always loved about loving Blaine, and it’s not enough, because he still feels terrible.

"Yes,” Kurt says, clenching his jaw, not smiling. “Now shut up."

They're inside now, and the weight of everything seems to fall back on Kurt’s shoulders in an instant. They sit, facing each other on Blaine's bed. Kurt stares at his hands, at the bedspread, anywhere but Blaine's face. And then Blaine grabs his hand. Rubs his thumb over Kurt’s wrist.

"What's going on?" Blaine asks. "I thought we were good, I thought this was working."

Kurt swallows, thinks of any number of things he could/should say right now, and somehow settles on, "I miss you."

He feels Blaine squeeze his hand. Watches Blaine's head drop a little, watches him cover his eyes with his other hand. Hears him sniffle. He forces himself to meet Blaine's eyes.

"Do you miss me?" Kurt asks and at first Blaine just stares at him for a moment, and then his eyes cloud over.

"Yes," he says quietly. "Yes, Kurt, I miss you. All the time."

"But?"

"But I'm trying to do the right thing. We both are. Aren't we?"

"I hope so," Kurt says. "I'm not sure," he admits, and he can feel new tears springing up behind his eyes. He turns away from Blaine, buries his face in his elbow for a second. He lets out a nervous laugh. "Please never let me have more than two drinks again."

Blaine laughs, and then he pulls Kurt into a tight hug, and doesn't let go. To Kurt's back, Blaine says, "I didn't want to say anything because I was afraid you'd think I was pushing for something. And I'm not. But of course I miss you." Blaine's grip tightens. "And Kurt, believe me, I’m trying not to dwell on it, because I know how strong you are, but seeing you in that hospital bed… It really kind of freaked me out. No matter what I just—I don’t want to lose you."

"I'm right here," Kurt says, and shifts so that he can see Blaine's face. "We're getting married," Kurt says. "I--we—we love each other. I’m sitting here sobbing my heart out to you. You know how much I hate that."

Blaine lets out a shaky laugh. "Well, you can always blame it on the champagne..."

Kurt narrows his eyes. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."

Blaine leans in, presses their foreheads together. His hands rest on Kurt's neck, steadying them.

"We're going to be okay, right?"

"Better than okay," Kurt says, and the first time in a while, he actually feels okay. He focuses on Blaine’s hands, on his fingers against the base of his neck. Every time Blaine breathes, every time his fingers move, even a tiny bit, Kurt feels the hairs on his arms react, feels it all the way down his spine.

"Yeah,” Blaine says. “And in the future, I promise not to be nearly as positive about any of this."

Kurt laughs. "You know that’s not what I--"

"I know,” Blaine says, and he presses a quick kiss to Kurt's lips. Then, seriously, “I'll be more honest. I promise."

"Me, too," Kurt says, before he presses a not-at-all quick kiss to Blaine's lips, which part easily, and before he knows it, they’ve pretty much picked up where they left off in the bathroom.

Kurt is grateful - he’s not sure how much more talking he had in him tonight, and kissing Blaine, losing himself in Blaine’s touch, in the warm press of Blaine’s body against his has always been nothing if not easy.

**

It doesn’t take long for Kurt to figure out that Blaine will likely be moving back in sooner rather than later, at least if the time Blaine spends at the loft (at Kurt’s encouragement, at his demand sometimes) is any indication. And Kurt knows that this is a good thing – that it’s what they both want. He really doesn’t know what he was thinking, anymore. It’s stopped making sense, wanting more space, when all he does is miss Blaine now that he has it. And especially with Rachel’s L.A. plans starting to take shape, it feels like the time is right.

There’s a very familiar fear that takes hold sometimes though, somewhere between Kurt’s head, and his heart. It creeps in late at night when Blaine isn't there, and the space next to him in bed is empty. Kurt spends hours and hours sometimes, staring up at the ceiling until the silence starts to feel heavy, and dark, and he forces his brain to stop, to sleep.

He’s not afraid that Blaine will cheat on him again. He’s come to terms with that – he trusts Blaine. It’s not perfect, and it’s not always easy, but he’s made his choice.

He’s not angry anymore, either. He had been, had been blindingly, fiercely angry, when he’d found out about June, and the showcase, but… He also understands. Especially since he moved out, Blaine has seemed laser-focused on giving Kurt exactly what he wants, all the time. The showcase had been a thing that Kurt had really wanted, and Blaine had wanted to give it to him. He understands. Anger fades.

It’s the things that don’t fade that worry him, that keep him up at night.

**

"Okay,” Rachel says one night after Blaine has gone back to his place, and after Kurt has wandered into her bedroom, complaining about not being able to sleep for the third night in a row. “I’ll play devil’s advocate if you want me to. Why did you say yes? Why did you agree to marry Blaine?"

They migrate to the couch, and curl up together under the soft grey plaid blanket he'd stolen from Blaine's apartment last month. Well, he didn’t steal it so much as he’d asked Blaine to bring it over, and then he refused to let him take it home. He likes having part of him here. Besides, all the soft, fuzzy ones he used to steal from Rachel are packed away by this point. The California deal hasn’t even been finalized yet, but Rachel’s had one foot out the door for a while.

"Because I love him," Kurt says finally, staring at the blanket.

He thinks about Blaine last year, back in Lima, telling him over and over again that he knows that they’ll be okay in the end, that this is why he proposed.

"Because I know that I want to spend the rest of my life with him."

“Okay, what’s the problem then?”

“I don’t know,” Kurt says, but his heart catches in his throat.

He does want to spend the rest of his life with Blaine; he doesn’t doubt that - he can’t imagine anything else for himself, but… He’s been thinking about it a lot lately, and he’s not sure if that’s why he said yes on that staircase. He’s not sure if that’s why Blaine proposed, either. He thinks it might have been more complicated than that.

“Sometimes I wonder what we’re both so afraid of,” he says to Rachel. He feels old – older than the last time they had this conversation, anyway. He’s had too much time to think, maybe. Everything is scary, all of the sudden – it’s like he’s lost the ability to just feel what’s in his heart, without worrying about what it means, without worrying about the consequences. “It never used to be this scary, you know?”

He looks up at Rachel and her eyes are sad, far away.

"I was scared, too, you know," she says quietly. “With Finn.”

Kurt feels a rush of guilt. He knows how hard Rachel is trying to move on, to start over. He waits a second, and then says, carefully, “We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”

Rachel shakes her head. “It’s okay. This is something that’s been on my mind for a while.”

She looks at him, and her eyes are dark and serious.

"Kurt, when you love someone like you love Blaine, I think maybe…you lose part of yourself,” Rachel says, and Kurt feels that familiar fear, solid and cold in his chest. “Maybe it’s the price you pay for being able to give them your love, I don’t know. But I think there comes a point when you have to decide if you're okay with that. If it's worth it. You have to decide if it’s the right time in your life to give that up.”

“I wasn’t ready,” Rachel says, simply. “And I thought I’d have another chance, but I didn’t, and I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how things might have been different, if I’d taken that chance when I had it.”

Kurt stares at her for what feels like forever. He knows that Rachel had always believed that she and Finn would end up together in the end - she’d told Kurt more than once that she was okay with their time apart, because it was what they needed, and that they’d make up for it later. Of course you never know exactly how much time you have, in the end. His father had taught him that, too.

“I’m so sorry, Rachel.”

He doesn’t know what else to say – he feels as ill-equipped as he ever has when it comes to talking about Finn; he never has any idea what to say to someone in a situation like this. He doesn't even realize that he's crying until Rachel slides closer to him, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. Her voice is quiet as she assures him that she’s okay, that they’re both okay. He feels ridiculous – he should be the one comforting her, but he just can’t stop crying.

"It's not okay though," Kurt says. "I miss him," he says fervently, like he’s trying to prove something, which is ridiculous. He’s not sure if he means Finn, or Blaine, or both of them, and then he realizes that it doesn’t matter.

He pulls the blanket up to his chin. It smells like Blaine's hair gel and it makes Kurt’s chest ache. "You know I stole this blanket from Blaine, because when he's not here, I can't stand feeling like he's completely gone. That's..." he sniffles. "That's really pathetic."

Rachel shakes her head. “It’s not pathetic. It just means you’re human, that you care.”

“I care,” Kurt says, sniffling again. “Of course I care, it’s Blaine.”

She smiles, squeezes his shoulder. "So why don’t you ask him to move back? It sounds like maybe it’s time. If everything goes well, I’ll be gone in a few weeks – you guys will have the whole place to yourselves.”

"I already did, actually. I mean, we’ve talked about it. We were going to tell you together. Once we made it official."

Rachel smiles. “I think that’s wonderful. And I have no idea why you’re still crying, because it’s obviously what you want.”

“It is,” Kurt says. Rachel hands him a tissue, which he uses to wipe his face off with as much grace as he can manage. “I’m afraid I’ll ruin it.”

Rachel shakes her head. “You’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” Kurt says, because he really doesn’t. It felt right when they talked about it– felt like a natural decision, but… He knows that when it comes down to it, this is their second try. The pressure is on. If it doesn’t work this time, they’ll know for sure. He pulls his knees to his chest.

“Ready for what?” Rachel asks.

“I don’t know – to do this, to start the rest of my life. To get married. It still feels like we’re too young.”

“So talk to him about it.”

“I have. I will, it’s just…”

“You don’t want to disappoint him,” Rachel supplies, and then shakes her head. “You won’t. Blaine loves you.”

“And I really, really love him,” Kurt says, and looks over at Rachel, a little helplessly.

“I know you do,” she says, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “That’s why I know it’ll be fine.”

“I’ve always loved Blaine, Rachel. It wasn’t enough before.”

“That’s exactly why you have to keep trying,” Rachel says. “I think that’s how you know it’s really worth it.”

“It’s everything I’ve ever wanted,” Kurt says, and like it always does when he imagines his future with Blaine, his heart flutters a little, a tiny little spike of hope in his chest. “Of course it’s worth it.”

**

[Fic] A Map (written on your heart), Chapter 2

2016-03-15T17:47:36Z

Title: A Map (written on your heart)
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Kurt Hummel/Blaine Anderson
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,051
Chapter: 2 (of 7)
Warnings: This chapter mentions canonical character death.

Summary: The evolution of Kurt and Blaine, from the back seat of a car at Mr. Schue’s wedding, to Bushwick, to I am a work in progress. (Or, the one where Kurt Hummel becomes Kurt Hummel-Anderson, a decade earlier than planned.)

(Read Chapter 1)

Also posted to AO3

September, 2013

Before Kurt knows it, Blaine is in New York.

It's amazing, and a little scary, and true to New York City form, everything happens really, really fast. By the time school starts up again that fall, Blaine is everywhere he looks. At his favorite coffee shop, at NYADA, in the hallways where Kurt used to call him between classes and complain about his teachers, Blaine is right there. They have the same teachers now that Blaine is a student, the same lunch spots, the same everything.

Blaine used to be his anchor, back in Lima, used to be the person who kept him sane, when the city got to be too much. Now that he’s here, it’s a bit disorienting - Kurt wonders what’s stopping them both from just being swept up in this city together.

Kurt feels guilty, too, because as crazy as New York can be at times, he really doesn’t miss Lima at all right now, and it’s not just because Blaine is here with him. He tries not to push the sharp, sick feeling he gets in his stomach when he’s reminded of Finn away, but it’s hard not to, sometimes. Hard not to bury it deep inside of himself, because otherwise the loss would be too much. He’s just not sure how he’d be able to handle everything else that’s going in his life right now if he didn’t set this aside.

One thing he is sure of, is how wonderful it feels having Blaine's arms - Blaine's whole body, most days - wrapped around him in his bed. Warm and soft and right there, without the threat of parental figures, or anyone else walking in and interrupting them. It feels right.

It feels like home, and Kurt has always loved the feeling of home. He loves that Blaine can finally be part of what that means to him here. He loves how safe he feels, how Blaine's arms create this kind of bubble around him, this sanctuary where no one can reach them.

It quiets Kurt's fears about living in New York, about school, about missing Finn, and marriage before thirty what on earth are they thinking because in the end, this is what he's always, always wanted. Freedom, and unconditional love. Someone who inspires him, in a city that inspires him, where they can both be themselves, all the time.

**

They’re both usually up well before now, but it’s Sunday, and last night had been a late night - an Almodovar double feature down at the Film Forum. He can feel Blaine's very much still deeply asleep breath against his neck as he tries carefully to extricate himself from his arms. Blaine barely moves as Kurt rolls out of bed, and tiptoes out of the room.

Rachel should have left an hour ago for the gym, and then rehearsal, and he has reading to catch up on - the latest issue of Italian Vogue (research, essentially). There's a little surge of excitement that flares up in his chest at the thought of actually being alone in his apartment for once. Sort of alone, anyway. It's not that he doesn't love being with Blaine all the time, because he does, but there are things that he used to do that he never seems to have time for anymore.

They're not terribly important things: curling up on the couch with a magazine, or his tablet and a couple of guilty-pleasure celebrity blogs, things that he wouldn’t necessarily carve out time to do, but that he enjoys, or used to enjoy, anyway. Turning on the TV and watching a random episode of Project Runway at the end of a long day, instead of referring to a more curated list of Quality Programming. Sure, House of Cards is a lot better than Keeping up with the Kardashians, objectively speaking, but... Kurt is learning that there’s a certain kind of spontaneity that’s lost, living with someone like this. Especially when you live with someone and two to three other roommates in a loft in Brooklyn with no doors to speak of.

He wouldn't trade this for the world though. It's him, and its Blaine, and they're in New York, living their dream. Well, he supposes maybe he'd trade this for a two bedroom in the West Village – just the two of them, with a balcony, and a storage unit in the basement, and a commute to midtown that didn’t take upwards of an hour on a good day. Maybe then he wouldn't feel so--

The thought disappears, because Blaine is suddenly wrapped around Kurt's neck. Well, most of him is, anyway. His arms drape around Kurt's shoulders from the back of the couch. His nose brushes against Kurt's earlobe, and when he starts dropping light kisses down his neck, Kurt feels his brain slide somewhere deep inside of him. Suddenly all he can think about are Blaine's lips, and how much he wants them on his, right now.

"Mm," Kurt grunts astutely, as Blaine joins him on the couch.

Their shoulders and thighs press against each other as Blaine leans in and kisses him, lazy and sweet at first and then deeper, as Kurt melts into the cushions. He breathes him in, feeling both of them come alive and awake in the space between their lips.

"You should come back to bed," Blaine says eventually. His voice is rough, and Kurt is already pushing himself up from the couch.

He loves how much he loves this, how turned on he is by Blaine's kiss-swollen lips, his crazy bed hair, the way his boxers frame his ass.

**

"Morning sex really is the best," Blaine says, around the time the sun has started peeking through the shades in the kitchen, casting a small sliver of light under Kurt’s bedroom curtain.

Kurt hums his approval into the space between them on the bed.

"Everything is the best with you," Blaine continues, and Kurt wonders if he's blushing, wonders how it is that he hasn't become desensitized to these random, heartfelt declarations of affection yet.

"I love being here with you."

Blaine stares straight into Kurt’s eyes when he says this, his face is so open and honest and bare, and Kurt suddenly remembers Vogue and the couch, remembers that before Blaine had come and seduced him back into bed, he'd definitely been hoping to have the couch to himself for a good long while.

He hadn’t wanted Blaine here with him; he’d wanted to be alone.

The feeling twists inside of him, until he flops over onto his stomach.

"I love having you here, too." Kurt knows that it's not a lie – he feels awful even thinking of using that word to describe it, but – the words don’t feel entirely truthful, either. "It sure beats waking up horny, and having to wait hours for you to drag yourself out of bed back in Ohio."

Kurt stares at Blaine, trying to reconcile the love he feels right now, the comfort, with the excitement that’d bubbled up inside of him earlier at the prospect of an empty couch and an hour or two to himself. It doesn’t make sense, both of those things existing in his head at the same time.

"That was one weekend," Blaine says with a sigh.

"I don't understand how anyone can sleep until noon. Ever."

Blaine laughs, and wraps an arm around Kurt's back, leans in so close that their noses are practically touching. "It was finals week."

Instead of reminding Blaine that he easily could have aced all his finals without even opening a book, and so by “it was finals week", he probably means that he was up all night helping Sam and Tina study - he just kisses him.

There's not much space between them to begin with, so there's not far to go, and within a breath he's turned his whole body into Blaine. The kiss goes from playful to something a little more urgent, and then to something a lot more urgent, sloppy, and needy and a little desperate, in the span of about twenty seconds.

And then Blaine is threading his fingers though Kurt's hair, whispering hey against his lips, and stroking his cheek with his thumb, and Kurt kind of feels like crying.

"I really do love having you here," Kurt says, swallowing hard past the lump in his throat that won’t go away. The way Blaine is looking at him, like he might cry is not helping at all. "I think part of me was always worried that somehow this wouldn't happen. And now it has, and… I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m trying to say. Please just ignore me."

Blaine smiles then, traces Kurt's cheekbone with his fingers, and pulls him close.

“I could never ignore you,” Blaine whispers against his neck, and they hold each other there for what feels like a long time, just breathing under the covers, warm and safe.

“And I know it’s not the same thing,” Blaine says, “but… I miss him too. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but… I’m here. Okay?”

Kurt sniffles a little against Blaine’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” he says, when he can find his voice again. Blaine’s hand finds his, and when he threads their fingers together, and squeezes tightly, Kurt allows the warmth to spread, until whatever he’d been feeling, all of it fades away somewhere outside of this space where it’s just him, and Blaine, and the warm press of Blaine’s skin against his body.

"I feel like I should be thanking you," Blaine says after another minute. They're lying next to each other now, staring up into the high ceiling.

"For what?"

"For being here. For letting me be here with you. For being you."

"Well, I am pretty great." Kurt agrees, smiling because he can’t help it. "But I think it might have something to do with the company I've been keeping lately. You see there’s this fabulous guy who’s just moved into town…"

"Yeah?" Blaine’s quiet laugh lodges itself right in the center of Kurt’s chest. “Please tell me more.”

Kurt just smiles and closes his eyes, feeling warm and happy and loved, like he's exactly where he's meant to be.

**

Most of the time, New York Blaine is wonderful. Full of energy and encouragement and playful, happy feelings, but sometimes, he’s not.

Kurt isn’t sure when exactly it started, or if maybe it had always been there under the surface - this insecurity, this doubt in Blaine’s eyes when he looks at him. This constant need to make sure he’s on equal footing - with Kurt, with his classmates at NYADA, with the world, sometimes. It’s as if he’s constantly reevaluating where he stands. The slightest hint of an imbalance, and Kurt can practically see the wheels turning in Blaine’s head, the doubts creeping in.

And Kurt isn’t judging him, because he understands, he really does. It’s a new city, and a new school, and an engagement, and all of these things are stressful, in their own way. Kurt remembers how he felt a year ago, too - arriving here and suddenly feeling insignificant and small, swallowed up by the lightning fast pace of the city.

But Kurt doesn't know what to do when Blaine is insecure about them, about him. It makes Kurt feel like he’s doing something wrong, just by feeling okay about himself, about his place in this city, finally. It makes him defensive, and that really doesn’t help, it just makes it worse, every time.

They argue – over Kurt’s schedule, over Blaine’s inability to be on time, over which end of the platform to board the train from in the morning, over everything, really. Sharp words, rolled eyes, silences that stretch for hours, sometimes. The apartment, for all of its sprawling, open space, starts to feel very, very small.

**

“I feel like I’m being really accommodating here, Blaine,” Kurt says, but he can’t keep the frustration out of his voice, which sort of contradicts the point he’s trying to make.

He lets out a breath, stares at Blaine across the kitchen table, trying to reach him. Unfortunately, Blaine is decidedly not reachable right now. At least not by Kurt.

“But like I said, I’ve already rescheduled this rehearsal twice,” Kurt says.

“Okay, fine.”

Blaine’s eyes flash with anger - Kurt is sure that whatever this is about, it doesn’t really have anything to do with whether or not they end up having dinner tomorrow night with two of Blaine’s classmates that Kurt has barely even met. It’s frustrating, and Kurt is losing his patience by the minute.

“I’ll just go by myself,” Blaine says, and Kurt tries really, really hard not to roll his eyes.

Rachel turns up the music a notch in her room, like maybe she’s expecting an impending shouting match, and honestly, Kurt can’t really convince himself that it’s is unwarranted.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t go.” Kurt tries to keep his voice calm, an olive branch.

“You don’t have to say it,” Blaine says, morosely, and that’s when Kurt just snaps.

“Jesus, Blaine! Do you think that for once you could stop putting words in my mouth? Could we, just once, have a civilized conversation about something? One that doesn’t end with you staring at me with that ridiculous kicked-puppy look on your face?”

He silently apologizes to Rachel. He’s sure she’s heard some version of this conversation half a dozen times over the past few weeks.

“Sorry,” Blaine says, not sounding sorry at all. “Next time I won’t bother asking you.”

“Oh my god.” Kurt stares at Blaine, wondering how on earth this person he is planning to marry could possibly be so clueless. “You can’t possibly think that’s going to work.”

“What?”

“You, trying to guilt-trip me!”

“I’m not trying to--”

“What are you trying to do then? Piss me off? Because that’s definitely working.”

“I just…” Blaine is staring at him a little helplessly now, and damn it if it doesn’t cut through all of Kurt’s anger, and hit him right in the stomach. The tension between them deflates, just a little.

“What?” Kurt asks, and his voice is a little calmer now, maybe even quiet enough for Rachel not to hear every word. “Please, tell me what this is really about, because I know it’s not about dinner with Todd and Stephen. You don’t even like them that much.”

“I don’t know, Kurt. Maybe I just wanted to spend time with you. I feel like I never see you.”

“Blaine, you live here. We go to class together every--single--day.”

“I’m sorry,” Blaine says, and he looks like he’s about to say something else, but stops himself.
Idina Menzel’s soaring voice fills the silence. (They’re all going to her new Broadway show together next week, and Rachel’s been listening to the cast album since it came out, pretty much exclusively. Kurt’s a big fan too, but right now he’s just not in the mood.)
He sighs, and stares at Blaine, who looks like he’s about to apologize again. Sometimes when Blaine apologizes for things that he has no business apologizing for it makes Kurt angry but tonight it’s just making him sad. He reaches across the table, finds Blaine’s hand.

They’re quiet for a second. Kurt squeezes Blaine’s fingers, waits for him to squeeze back, which he does, after another beat or two.

“You should go to rehearsal tomorrow,” Blaine says finally, meeting Kurt’s eyes.

“I probably should,” Kurt admits, running his thumb over Blaine’s palm, his wrist.

“You were right,” Blaine says. “You’ve been really accommodating – I can’t expect you to change your entire schedule just because I’m here. I’ve been an idiot.”

Kurt shakes his head. “You’re not an idiot.”

“I’m fighting with you over something that’s not even important, so… Yeah, I am.”

“How you feel is important,” Kurt says. “I want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” Blaine says quickly, sounding defensive, and maybe a little scared.

Kurt gets up from the table then, because he’s scared, too. Fights like this that erupt out of nowhere have always scared him, because he’s not sure what he might say that he won’t be able to take back. Or vice versa.

With Blaine’s arms firmly wrapped around his back, and Blaine’s breath against his neck, everything feels a little easier, a little more clear.

“I’ll reschedule rehearsal tomorrow,” Kurt says, and when Blaine starts to protest, Kurt stops him. “Let me finish. I’m rescheduling rehearsal, and you’re going to take a raincheck on dinner. We can order in from that new Thai place over by the park, and watch a movie. Okay?”

“Are you sure?”

“You’re right. We haven’t had much time to ourselves lately. I know my schedule has been crazy.”

It’s a textbook reconciliation, really, where both parties realize that they were wrong, and no one really has to compromise anything. He suspects that it shouldn’t really be this easy, but it feels like something, that it ends up like this, with Kurt stifling a gasp as Blaine’s tongue finds its way to his neck, his heart pounding in his chest and his blood rushing to all the right places.

“At least you guys can still kiss and make up,” Rachel announces a few minutes later as she walks into the kitchen, and then immediately turns to head back to her room when she sees the rather compromising position Kurt has gotten himself into, his back pressed against the refrigerator, and Blaine’s hands creeping up under the edge of his shirt.

And Kurt thinks that yeah, Rachel may really be on to something. Because this—Blaine’s cool hands against his stomach, fingers lightly brushing against his ribcage until he squirms, and has no choice but to bury his hands in Blaine’s hair, and crush their lips together… This has to be a good sign.

**

Blaine doesn’t settle in with time though, the way Kurt had hoped he would. He doesn’t become less anxious, or more sure of his place the longer he’s here. They’re fighting too much, and it’s wearing them both down. They don’t always kiss and make up anymore.

Going home has started to feel tiring and stressful, and before he knows it, Kurt is standing on the High Line, staring out over the Hudson River, asking himself questions that he really never thought he’d be asking himself, until it starts to feel like an ultimatum.

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s been by himself for this long.

He loves Blaine. He wants to spend the rest of his life with Blaine, but being with him in this apartment is really not working right now. And admitting that this is actually happening feels like admitting to a much bigger problem that Kurt just can’t reconcile with what he feels in his heart right now.

Because his heart misses Blaine and it’s only been three hours since he stormed out of the apartment to say god-knows-what to Elliott. Kurt had come out here under the pretense of clearing his head, though he’s not sure that’s what’s happening at all. The longer he’s here, the more ridiculous everything starts to seem.

They’d never really talked about whether or not Blaine would move in with him after graduation. He honestly doesn’t even remember which one of them mentioned it first – at the time, it hadn’t really seemed like there was any other option that made sense. If they had been making a huge mistake, or rushing into things, it certainly hadn’t felt like it.

They’re engaged, and living together – both of these things are not things that Kurt has ever questioned wanting. He thought New York would be the beginning of their happily ever after.

His dad told him once that no great romance ever came without a price, without some heartache. He’d told him this after he and Blaine had broken up last year, and Kurt had just sort of assumed that the break-up had been the price.

Looking back, he feels naïve. They were kids then, but they’re still kids now. He wonders why he was so convinced that everything would be perfect in New York. Kurt misses that anything can happen, it’s us against the world feeling he’d had saying yes to Blaine on a staircase at Dalton Academy.

He doesn’t know where that feeling has gone, but today, staring out at the river, as the sun sinks down over the city, he’s not sure he even knows where to look anymore.

**

“It’s going to be fine,” Blaine tells him, much later, and lying here like this, with so many inches of Blaine’s naked body pressed against his skin, still trying to catch his breath after what may actually have been the best make-up sex ever, Kurt is inclined to believe him.

“It’ll be good for both of us. You need to explore the city on your own, find your own groove,” Kurt agrees, as Blaine presses his nose against his collarbone, and lets out a long breath.

It’s essentially the same conversation they’d had earlier (after Kurt had returned from the High Line, and Blaine had finally come back to the apartment) only naked, and Kurt finds that being naked helps a lot. The knot in his stomach has loosened, and he doesn’t feel quite so much like crying, at least. This, really, is going to be fine.

Blaine will move out, and nothing else between them will change. They’ll figure out whatever this is that’s going on between them, and then he’ll move back in, or they’ll find their own place, together, and it will all be fine, just like Blaine had said. This will make them stronger.

“I’ll find something small,” Blaine tells him, his face still pressed to Kurt’s chest. “And then after the wedding, we’ll look for the perfect place together.”

“Bushwick is definitely not perfect.”

Blaine chuckles, and Kurt runs his fingers over his shoulder. There’s an uneasiness that he can feel creeping in to his body that he wants more than anything to keep at bay. Blaine picks up his head, and turns over on his back. Kurt props himself up on an elbow, still close enough that he can feel the heat from Blaine’s skin against his arm.

“You know, I probably should have told you that I can be a little crazy about personal space before you moved in.” It’s meant to be a peace offering, but as soon as the words leave his mouth, they feel wrong.

“You’re not crazy.”

“Come on, Blaine. I pretty much set myself up for that one, you can admit it.”

“I don’t want to.” And just like that, the knot in Kurt’s stomach is back.

“Sorry,” Blaine says, and Kurt hates the tension he can already hear in his voice. “Do we have to keep talking about this? I know I started it, but now I wish we could go back to the part where we just lie here, thinking about the amazing sex we just had.”

Kurt’s lips curl up at that. “It was pretty amazing.”

“It’s always amazing.”

It’s meant to be light, Kurt knows it is, but Blaine sounds sad, and a little defensive, and Kurt just lies back and stares up at the ceiling, wondering if anything will ever be okay again.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says, because he is, because he wants to fix this, even though he knows that trying to fix this is exactly what got them here in the first place.

“There’s nothing for you to be sorry for, Kurt.”

“Well, I’m sorry anyway, okay?”

“Fine.” Blaine’s voice is quiet and small in the darkness. “But I’m sorry too. I really hope you know that.”

Kurt isn’t sure if he knows anything anymore, to be honest, but he tells Blaine of course anyway, before he reaches down and finds his hand. He squeezes it and runs his thumb over Blaine’s palm until Blaine looks at him. And then he kisses him, deep and slow, until the rhythm becomes something he recognizes, until Blaine’s hands are buried in his hair, until it feels familiar again.

***

[Fic] A Map (written on your heart); Glee, Kurt/Blaine

2016-03-09T17:09:22Z

Title: A Map (written on your heart)
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Kurt Hummel/Blaine Anderson
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,496
Chapter: 1 (of 7)

Summary: The evolution of Kurt and Blaine, from the back seat of a car at Mr. Schue’s wedding, to Bushwick, to I am a work in progress. (Or, the one where Kurt Hummel becomes Kurt Hummel-Anderson, a decade earlier than planned.)

Notes: This is more or less a series of missing scenes, some within episodes, and some outside of them, starting mid-S4, but mostly focused on seasons 5 and 6. Canon-compliant, Kurt POV. Also my first Glee fic, because I am forever late to the party ;) My best guess is that this will be around 30K total and I'll do my very best to update regularly - my goal is every two weeks, if not sooner. Thanks for reading :)

A big thank you to Tiff for her help with this first chapter, and to Ginnie, for encouraging me to come to Klaine in the first place <3

Also posted to AO3

January, 2013

“So, about Mr. Schue’s wedding,” Blaine says one cold January night, his voice crystal-clear in Kurt’s ear, despite the miles between them.

Kurt is on his way to meet Rachel for dinner, and he’d considered not answering. It’s too cold, for one thing – his fingers are bright red and freezing, exposed to the air like this, as he presses the phone to his ear tightly. For another thing, Blaine is not his boyfriend anymore, hasn’t been for a while. There are things Kurt has had to let go of.

And then Blaine says, “I know it’s a lot to ask, but…” in a voice that moves a tiny sliver of something in Kurt’s heart, just a little. He can feel it deep inside of him, tentative, and familiar, and really, really terrifying.

Blaine sounds nervous, and hopeful, and for a while Kurt just listens to his voice while Sixth Avenue bustles around him in the darkness of rush hour in Manhattan in the middle of winter.

Blaine is saying, “If you don’t want to, that’s fine. No pressure. It would just be as friends, of course. And if you don’t want me to be there, and you want to go with Mercedes, or Rachel or…whoever, that’s fine too. I don’t have to go.”

And Kurt realizes in that moment that of course he’ll go to the wedding with Blaine, even though he’s not sure he’s ready, because he is sure that this is exactly what he wants, regardless.

“Okay,” he tells Blaine, and starts walking again, sub-freezing air numbing his face until Blaine asks, hopefully, “Okay, you’ll go with me, or okay, you don’t want me to be there?”

Kurt just laughs, and sniffles against the cold.

“Yes, I’ll go to Mr. Schue’s wedding with you, Blaine.”

He doesn’t realize until after he hangs up the phone, until he’s halfway down the stairs to the subway and touches his hand to his face to find that it it’s wet and practically frozen stiff from the wind, that he’s crying.

**

There are a lot of moments like this with Blaine. Moments when Kurt doesn’t realize what he’s feeling until it’s too late, until the words have spilled out of his mouth, or his body has moved on its own, carried forward by some kind of invisible momentum that Kurt suspects he’s always been powerless against, like a thread that lies underneath everything, pulling him back when he loses his way.

It makes things possible that shouldn’t be possible – Blaine’s body pressed up against him in the backseat of a car at Mr. Shuester’s wedding, their hands all over each other, eyes desperate and in denial and full of hope at the same time.

Blaine had said it was no coincidence – Christmas, Valentine’s Day - and he’d been right. About Adam, he’d said you’re not in New York and it’s not exclusive and he’d been right about that too. He could have said you knew this would happen or you wanted this or this will happen over and over again no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise or any number of things, and probably, Blaine would have been right about all of them.

Because the truth is, there are things that Kurt has held on to, also. He’d felt something that night, walking down Sixth Avenue, listening to Blaine ask him out, as friends, after so many months, and then later, swiping his MetroCard through the turnstile and trying to wipe the tears from his face at the same time.

He’d felt something shift inside of him, had been waiting for it, maybe.

**

It had started long before that, of course, with a boy on a staircase – bright eyes, and an honest, open smile, as if a switch had been flipped somewhere. As if sixteen-year-old Kurt had been asleep his entire life until this moment, and now he was finally here, he’d arrived.

Blaine had disarmed him, changed everything in an instant, made Kurt feel like he could do anything, be anything - and the feeling had never faded, not really.

There’s something powerful and almost sacred in Blaine’s eyes when he looks at Kurt, like Kurt is the only person in the room, every single time. It’s always made Kurt feel strong, and sure of himself, and maybe a little magical, like a superhero, or the unsuspecting heroine in a fairy tale.

**

After Mr. Schue’s wedding, Blaine texts. He calls, sometimes - not too much, but more often than before. Once, he sends flowers. They’re officially for Rachel, congratulations for some NYADA competition that Kurt had only been vaguely aware of, but there’s a smiley face, and a Hi Kurt! in the neat slant of Blaine’s handwriting, squeezed into the right margin of the tiny card. The flowers are a brilliant mix of white and yellow roses with carnations and wild heather, too, and they brighten up the apartment for weeks.

Blaine has always been very good at reminding Kurt of exactly why he fell in love with him.

Adam starts to feel peripheral - not on purpose, really, but Kurt is surprised by how easy it is to walk away, is a little shocked to learn that something resembling a clean break is a thing that he can do.

Blaine texts, calls, Skypes.

He assures, and reassures, and offers support. He’s a good friend when Kurt needs one, and Kurt is grateful. When his dad’s test results come back with the best possible news, Blaine is the first person he tells - the only person he needs to tell, really. Kurt watches Blaine’s eyes mist over in relief, and resists the urge to pull him close, to bury himself in Blaine’s shoulder, to press his lips against the soft skin of Blaine’s neck.

He lets Blaine relay the news to Rachel because it feels right, because, Kurt realizes, he trusts him. Realizing this makes Kurt feel warm and happy and content, like the balance of the universe has finally been restored, or at least part of it, anyway.

**

They spend an entire Saturday afternoon together, watching movies in Blaine’s bedroom – a classic movie-musical marathon on TCM. Their shoulders press against each other on the bed. During Singin’ in the Rain, Blaine’s Gene Kelly impression is so spot-on and charming, and yet still so fundamentally Blaine, that Kurt can’t help but blush.

They make dinner for his dad and Carole the next night. Nothing fancy, spaghetti carbonara, with a side of sautéed brussel sprouts, and afterwards, Blaine falls asleep on the couch watching reruns of Mad Men. For several long moments, Kurt just watches him – the rise and fall of his chest, the shadow his long eyelashes cast on his skin.

After so many months spent measuring his words with Blaine, and limiting his contact, it feels kind of wonderful, just being here like this, not having to hold himself back.

Kurt realizes that he’s happier, sitting on this sagging old couch in his basement in Lima than he’s been since he arrived in New York. It’s as if he’s been holding his breath for forever, and now he can finally relax, he can let go.

**

And while it’s Blaine who takes the leap one sunny afternoon on the steps of McKinley, honestly, as far as Kurt’s concerned, things had already changed between them, long before that day. He just hadn’t quite gotten around to saying it out loud yet. Or allowing his heart to fully believe it.

Spread out in front of him in picnic form, Blaine’s bowtie is like a beacon, and it all seems so obvious.

Hearing Blaine say it out loud - boyfriends - makes Kurt feel giddy, and a little reckless. Everything is bright sunlight and brilliant color and Blaine. Blaine, who is officially, exclusively his again. He thinks his heart might bounce out of his chest, that he might just let it.

He settles for a searing kiss that sets his entire body on fire, and the promise of many, many more to come.

**

And then they’re back on that staircase at Dalton, and there are actual rose petals raining down over Kurt’s head- it’s like he’s stepped inside some kind of beautifully-designed, but still-a-little-insane musical fantasy.

The music stops, and Blaine says all I’ve ever wanted is to spend the rest of my life loving you and Kurt thinks maybe time has stopped too. And then he’s saying yes with his voice, which is shaking and breathless, and also with what feels like his entire being.

He allows himself to be folded into Blaine’s arms, allows Blaine to hold him so tightly he thinks he actually stops breathing for a few seconds, and for so long that he forgets there are people watching and cheering and waiting to congratulate them, waiting for a photo-op. For several long moments all he can hear is his heart hammering in his chest.

It feels crazy, and it’s way too-much, too-soon, but it also feels more right than anything Kurt has ever felt in his entire life.

Kurt doesn’t know how else to explain it – it wasn’t possible, it shouldn’t be possible, but it is, because it’s Blaine, and so of course. This is happening. This has always been happening.

**

Kurt had wanted to head back to New York quietly. At the very least, he’d wanted to avoid the heart-wrenching, tearful airport goodbye that he knew would mortify at least one of them later.

Instead, next to of a row of self-check-in kiosks for Delta Air Lines, Blaine looks Kurt in the eye, and in front of at least a half a dozen people who may or may not be paying attention, he says, “I know I’ve said it a hundred times already, but I’m just so happy, Kurt. I’m so happy you said yes.”

He grabs both of Kurt’s hands, and with an unguarded look of joy in his eyes, very nearly convinces Kurt that maybe, just maybe, getting on a plane back to New York isn’t the worst decision in the world. After all, Blaine is his, now – forever - whether he’s in Lima, or New York, or anywhere else.

“Of course I said yes,” Kurt tells him, turning his hand over in Blaine’s, letting Blaine run his fingers back and forth over the ring, like he can’t quite believe it’s real. (It is – Kurt loves the solid weight of it on his finger, loves its closeness.)

“You didn’t really give me much of a choice, you know,” Kurt says, thinking of the swirling insanity of Blaine’s proposal, of Blaine, professing his love for Kurt in front of pretty much everyone either of them had ever known.

“Did you need much of a choice?” Blaine squeezes Kurt’s fingers, staring fondly into his eyes, and the rest of the airport is suddenly miles away.

“No,” Kurt says quietly.

He realizes something in that moment that he honestly hadn’t known when he’d asked his dad for advice on the way to Dalton, when he’d been more than a little terrified about making such a huge decision when they were still so new at this, at being with each other like this again.

He leans forward and presses his forehead to Blaine’s.

“I would have said yes wherever and whenever you asked me. You know that.”

Then Blaine’s arms come up around Kurt’s waist, tugging him close, possessive and sweet, and Kurt wants nothing more in that moment than for Blaine to hold him like this forever, for the next two months, until he can come back to New York with him. He’s not looking forward to Brooklyn and Rachel and Broadway and sleeping alone, again.

Kurt has never been much for public displays of affection, but he presses his lips to Blaine’s, in full view the entire terminal because he just doesn’t care, because he’s saying goodbye to his fiancé and because it’s really important that he get it right. He has to make Blaine understand that he’s in this for the long haul, that nothing is going to come between them anymore. Blaine will remember this kiss, will carry it with him to McKinley tomorrow and the next day and the next day and so it needs to be good; it needs to be everything.

Kurt nearly misses his flight, but it’s worth every second, and he’d do it again, right now, in a heartbeat.

**

Back in New York, of course, no one really cares about his fiancé back in Ohio. He’s lucky to get an obligatory congratulations, which is a little disappointing, because Kurt is eager for everyone in New York to love Blaine as much as he does. He needs them to, maybe. Needs people to see them as formidable together, a force to be reckoned with. Which, of course, they absolutely are.

And when he thinks about it that way, he’s sure he has nothing to worry about. He likes his odds when it comes to Blaine, he always has – and he likes their odds together even more.

After all, he’s Kurt Hummel, counter-tenor extraordinaire, best friend of up-and-coming Broadway ingénue Rachel Berry. And Blaine is, well, Blaine. And it takes a pretty special person to resist Blaine Anderson's charms, in the end.

He relates this theory to Blaine from his bedroom, on unseasonably chilly Tuesday night in April. He can hear Rachel’s TV from across the loft, a muffled din of voices, even though Kurt is sure she’s already asleep.

Not for the first time, he silently thanks the universe for the invention of Skype. Now that they've started this nightly ritual, Kurt has a really hard time falling asleep if he can't say good night to Blaine's actual face, first.

"And what exactly are these charms you speak so highly of?"

Blaine waggles his eyebrows for emphasis and Kurt rolls his eyes.

Blaine hasn’t changed clothes yet, even though it’s late - his sweater is draped over the chair next to the bed, and the shirt underneath is a little rumpled. Kurt stares at Blaine’s plaid-covered chest for a moment, eyes flickering up to his neck, to the tiny triangle of skin that’s exposed there, and then to his face.

"You have plenty of charming qualities, Blaine, but those eyebrows are not included. Seriously,” he tells him, mostly kidding. “You have heard of waxing, right?"

"Anyway,” Blaine says, ignoring him, “don’t let it get to you. You know it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks, because we’re going to prove them wrong. It’ll be fun."

"I know," Kurt agrees, but he’s not sure he's convinced.

Blaine grins at him then, his eyes scrunching up at the corners, and a wave of nostalgia washes over Kurt. He misses Blaine’s bedroom, misses curling up under Blaine’s blankets, the smell of his stupid hair gel, misses everything about him.

“Come on. You know it’s going to be great – you love proving people wrong.”

"That’s true,” Kurt admits. He sighs. “I just want..."

“What?”

"Oh, I don't know.” Kurt stalls as he watches Blaine’s face change from curious to mildly concerned. “Mostly I just want you," he admits.

"Well, I miss you too, Kurt." Blaine looks pleased, and a little incredulous.

"What? Is it surprising that I'd prefer to have my--my fiancé in bed with me, rather than hundreds of miles away?"

"No,” Blaine says, but there's something else going on in his eyes. He looks away for a second, and then smiles. “Of course not.”

Kurt shakes his head. "Don't do that. What are you thinking?"

Blaine fiddles with his fingers in his lap, with the cuff of his shirt for a moment.

"It’s just that, well, six months ago, I wasn't sure if you'd ever speak to me again. I mean, deep down, I figured you probably would, but..." He flashes a self-conscious smile. "You know, if your new friends are less than excited about our engagement, it's probably just because they don't want you to get hurt. You can't really blame them."

"Blaine,” Kurt says, measuring his voice. “My friends don't know anything about us. Do you think that I went around badmouthing you to everyone I met when we broke up?"

"No. I don't know. I'm sorry." He looks up at Kurt, apologetic and a little sad. "I think I'm just in a weird mood tonight."

Kurt stares at his laptop screen, at the person staring back at him. Not understanding what’s going on in Blaine’s head, even when he thinks they’re in a good place makes everything feel off-balance, makes him wonder if there's something wrong with him, with them, that he can never seem to see this coming.

"Blaine." Kurt’s voice is softer this time. "It’s okay if you're in a weird mood. I still want you to talk to me. I want us to talk about stuff like this.”

"I know. I’m sorry."

“And trust me, everyone’s going to love you as much as I do once you get here, if I have anything to say about it. And I do. I have rather a lot to say on the subject.”

Blaine stares at him for a moment, and then says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, "I love you so much, Kurt.”

Kurt suspects that sometimes Blaine says this when he doesn't know what else to say, as if it’s the one thing that he can always fall back on. He’d like to say it’s annoying, or that repeating the words lessens their value, but honestly, it’s one of the things that Kurt loves most about him.

"I love you, too,” he says. “And I don't kiss and tell. Or break up and tell. Okay?" He studies Blaine's face, which is curiously unreadable at the moment, but it might just be the time lag. He waits until Blaine’s face stills on the screen. "I also feel like this would be a good time for me to remind you that I’ve forgiven you. For everything. You know that, right?"

Blaine is quiet for a second, and then another.

“Come on, say something, you’re making me nervous.”

"Sorry,” Blaine says quickly. “I know you’ve forgiven me. I'm not saying you haven't."

Kurt nods. He waits. And when Blaine doesn't say anything else, he asks, very quietly, "And what about you? Have you?”

"Have I what?"

"Forgiven me.”

Blaine doesn’t say anything, just stares at him, so Kurt keeps going.

“For coming to New York without you. For pushing you away,” he says. “For not being there when you needed me. I knew something was wrong and I should have talked to you about it."

It’s taken Kurt a long time to come to terms with the fact that something hadn’t been right between them for a while before Blaine ended up in someone else’s bed. He'd ignored it, had chosen not to focus on it, in favor of a new city, a new life.

Blaine is quiet for a moment, and then he says, seriously, "I really wish I could kiss you right now."

"Blaine Anderson, that is not an answer to my question."

Kurt disappears off-screen for a second, and when he returns to view, he's got a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

“Sorry, it’s freezing in here tonight,” he explains, pulling the soft fleece a little tighter to his chest.

"It's so drafty in that place. When I move in, I'm bringing insulation with me. Or at least an extra blanket or two."

Kurt smiles wishing he could reach through the screen and pull Blaine close to him.

"Look, I know you wouldn't have asked me to marry you if you hadn't forgiven me. I think I just wanted to hear you say it."

"I know." Blaine’s voice is quiet. "And I forgive you, of course I do. I forgave you a long time ago."

Kurt closes his eyes. He’s a little taken off guard by the warmth in his cheeks, the tightness in his throat.

"Thank you," Kurt says, meaning it, and then he realizes that there’s something else he needs to say. “You know we’re not going to get anywhere if we keep blaming ourselves for the past, right? You have to forgive yourself, too. Please."

Blaine stares at him with a look so intense that Kurt can practically feel it, even a million miles away like this, as if he’s just unearthed some great secret of the universe. Then he shakes his head, and smiles. Soft, just for Kurt, the one that makes him melt every single time.

"You’re right. Of course you are.”

"What can I say, I'm a genius. Admit it,” Kurt says lightly, because nothing weighs anything when Blaine is smiling at him like that.

"You really are, and I love you for it."

Kurt lets his insides go a little warm and squirmy at that.

"Why do you have to be so far away," Kurt says, which, if he’s being honest, is what he says when he can't think of anything else. He also means it, of course.

“I’ll be there soon. I promise.”

Kurt closes his eyes. He focuses on Blaine’s voice, doesn’t say anything else, because he doesn't quite trust his voice.

When Blaine says, “I love you so much,” for the second time, the words settle somewhere deep in Kurt’s chest.

“I love you, too,” Kurt says.

Then he reaches over and turns off the lamp next to his bed, so that the only light in the room is the light from his laptop. The darkness makes him feel small, five years old and begging his mom for one more bedtime story. He hates that he has no way of knowing if it’s a real memory, or an imagined one. Something he’s holding on to because it matters, because it’s real, or something he’s just constructed in his head.

The city outside the window is quiet and still, miles and miles of darkness between Lima and Brooklyn.

“Oh, I keep forgetting to tell you…”

To Kurt's great relief, it’s the start of a story Blaine had promised Kurt earlier, Tina had apparently refused to sing a duet with Kitty, and Mr. Schuester was threatening serious repercussions. Typical New Directions drama, the kind that feels new every time, but has happened a dozen times before, and will probably happen a dozen times again before graduation. Kurt listens, grateful for the sound of Blaine's voice.

Blaine doesn’t seem tired at all. Kurt wonders if it’s going to be one of those nights where he stays up until odd hours reading or poking around at music until the sun is practically up. Kurt hates pulling all-nighters – it wreaks havoc on his skin, and throws his schedule off for days, but he thinks he’d be up for it tonight. If it meant being there in Blaine’s bedroom with him, he might consider giving up sleep for a week.

Kurt is aware of the fact that pining for Blaine like this is ridiculous. That Blaine is graduating next month, and that he’ll be here with him before he knows it. Sometimes he wonders if he’s making up for lost time, all those nights last year when he wasn’t allowed to miss Blaine, because he was angry and anger like that didn’t allow for this kind of visceral longing that makes his chest, his entire body ache sometimes.

Kurt takes a shaky breath, lets it out slowly.

“Hey,” Blaine says, and Kurt realizes that Blaine has stopped talking, that they’ve been sitting there in silence for a few seconds. “What are you thinking about?”

Kurt says the first thing that pops into his head. “Do you know how many miles it is from Lima to Brooklyn?”

“Why do I feel like this is a rhetorical question..."

Kurt narrows his eyes. “Five hundred and ninety-three. I may have looked it up. More than once.”

“Okay…”

Blaine sounds confused, and maybe a little concerned, and Kurt can’t really blame him. They don’t really need to discuss the specific number of miles between them, as if that has ever mattered.

“Sorry.” Kurt is suddenly exhausted. “It’s late and I really need to be downtown before eight tomorrow. I should probably try to get some sleep.”

“Kurt.” Blaine’s voice has that scary-serious tone, the one that always gets Kurt’s attention. “What’s wrong?”

Kurt feels tears blossom behind his eyes, and panics a little, grateful for the darkness. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong, Blaine.”

“Kurt,” Blaine says again, his voice still urgent.

“What?”

“I’m sorry that it’s so far,” Blaine says, like it’s his fault, like he’s to blame for the size of Ohio, or the drawing of state lines.

“It’s not really that far,” Kurt argues. He feels silly, exposed. “And it’s not something you need to apologize for, anyway.”

“I meant that I’m sorry I can’t be there.” Blaine looks genuinely upset now, which is really not helping. “I want to be.”

“I know. I didn’t mean--"

“Kurt,” Blaine says. “I miss you, too. So much. Sam and Tina keep telling me I never shut up about you - and I just… I promise I’ll be there as soon as I can. Hopefully I’ll get into NYADA, but even if I don’t. We’ll figure something out. I’ll be there.”

Kurt listens. He decides maybe he’ll just let Blaine do what he does best right now, which is make him feel happy, and loved, and not alone.

“Five hundred ninety-three miles…” Blaine is saying. “That’s a lot of miles. We should really do something about that.”

“We could eliminate the state of Pennsylvania?”

“That would definitely help.”

They laugh for way too long at that, so hard that Kurt’s afraid he might wake up Rachel.

And then it’s quiet again and Kurt just listens to Blaine for a moment, to his soft intake of breath, and wonders for a second how on earth he had ever stopped doing this. How he’d ever convinced himself it was okay to put distance between them on purpose.

“I’m sorry it’s so far, too,” Kurt says after a moment.

“I know. But we’re going to be okay.”

Blaine says it with certainty, like he’s seen the future or something.

“How can you be so sure? Because we both think there are too many miles between Ohio and the center of the known universe?”

“I can’t explain it. I just know. I can feel it. That’s why I asked you to marry me.”

Kurt is quiet for a second. There’s a very real sense of clarity that descends on him in that moment. For once, everything feels uncomplicated, honest, and certain. The feeling is big – oh, there you are – and it doesn’t leave room for anything else, it crowds the noise out and leaves a calm silence in its place.

“Well,” Kurt says. “I guess that’s a good thing, because… I’m pretty sure that’s why I said yes.”

***

Come on, LJ, really?

2015-03-17T23:03:23Z

Okay, so I just realized that there seems to be a very weird problem happening with my LJ, which I think has to do with the theme I'm using, and I'm wondering if anyone else has experienced it and/or knows how to fix it? Basically, I can now only see the first comment on any of my posts. I can't see my replies or...anything else, really, except the first comment, after that, this error is the only thing that displays:

Error running style: Died in S2::run_code running EntryPage::print(): Method called on null Comment object at 'Flexible Squares' (#4472608) line 2506 at /home/lj/src/s2/S2.pm line 544, line 13041.

So yeah, is anyone else using Flexible Squares who might know how to fix this? Otherwise, I'm thinking I'll probably have to say goodbye to this custom layout and use another theme :/ Assuming it's theme related, and this isn't happening to everyone else, too? O_o

So yeah, um... Any thoughts or fixes would be greatly appreciated. <3

[Fic] Starlight

2014-04-08T15:59:36Z

Title: Starlight
Fandom: Samurai Flamenco
Pairing: Goto Hidenori/Hazama Masayoshi
Warnings/Spoilers: none
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,185

Summary: A lesson in trust and friendship, as Masayoshi celebrates his birthday with Goto. Set mid-series.

Notes: Ever since we found out Goto’s secret, I’ve been thinking about how various conversations about his girlfriend would have gone before Masayoshi knows the truth, just wondering if there would have been any signs or not – and so this grew from that idea. This is kind of an almost-get-together fic, I think. A get-together-with-reservations, maybe? Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. ^_^

**

The stars shining in the sky pale compared to the light that shines in the heart. I am the starlight that chases away evil’s darkness.

--Samurai Flamenco, Episode 10

**

The bar had been Goto’s choice, of course.

They hadn’t been able to find space in the smoking section, but light curls of smoke escape across the the plastic barrier anyway, and settle over their table like fog. Masayoshi doesn’t mind. The scent has become familiar, almost pleasant by association. It makes him think of homemade curry, of Red Axe and Harakiri Sunshine on TV, of friendship, of Goto.

Masayoshi sips his drink, and glances at the man sitting next to him. They’re here tonight because Goto had insisted on taking him out to celebrate, even though his birthday had been months ago, and the entire world has turned upside down since then.

It seems there’s some sort of rite of passage that Masayoshi had missed, while he’d been out fighting crime day and night, and saving the city from monsters. Between King Torture, and From Beyond, he and the Flamengers haven’t had a moment’s peace in months. The police have put in their fair share of overtime, too. And so even though Masayoshi has been twenty for a while, tonight is the first time he’s really acknowledged it.

It’s also the first time he’s has had more than two drinks together in such quick succession. The world buzzes around him, a pleasant sort of hum that pushes back everything that’s been weighing on his shoulders for a while now. It allows him to focus on something other than the fate of the country, and the evil empire threatening to take over once and for all. He’s grateful for the opportunity to concentrate on something else for a night.

Masayoshi stares for a moment at his friend’s hands. They just about make it all the way around his glass of beer, and condensation glistens in the space between his fingers. He’s wearing a new shirt, or at least it’s new to Masayoshi. It’s got a stylish double collar, and the color is nice - rich stripes of blue and brown that bring out the color of his eyes.

Goto has probably had more to drink he has, though if Goto’s world is buzzing around him, you’d never know it. It’s one of the things Masayoshi likes so much about his friend – his ability to stay calm and composed in the face of pretty much anything.

“I really like that shirt,” Masayoshi says, since it’s on his mind. His grandfather had taught him not to leave a compliment unsaid – you never know when you’ll have another opportunity.

“Thanks,” Goto says, then raises his eyebrows. “You know you’ve told me that once already tonight.”

“Sorry,” Masayoshi says, a little embarrassed, though he doesn’t feel too bad, especially since Goto is smiling at him. He wonders if the shirt had been a gift from Goto’s girlfriend – it would make sense if it was. It’s a really good color on him.

“Your girlfriend must like it, too,” he offers, and Goto just shrugs.

“You should tell me more about her,” he continues, but as soon as the words leave his mouth, his stomach tightens into a knot that he can’t quite explain. He’s not sure why, but it never feels exactly right, bringing up Goto’s girlfriend, like his timing is perpetually off, maybe.

Goto’s face is flushed in the dark room. He takes a long sip of his beer. When he sets it down it wobbles, almost tips over, but he catches it.

“You don’t want to hear about that,” Goto tells him evenly.

“I do.” Masayoshi nods enthusiastically. “Goto-san, I really do.”

He wonders if maybe Goto hasn’t said much about her because he doesn’t trust him. Masayoshi wouldn’t blame him, if that’s what it is. He doesn’t exactly have a lot of experience with this whole friendship thing, and he hasn’t been around much lately, on top of it.

But he’s seen Goto’s face staring down at his phone so many times, with that singular focus he seems to reserve only for her messages. He wants to know what kind of person attracts Goto’s attention so completely, wants to know what she’s like.

Maybe it’s the alcohol, but he can feel the blood rushing up his neck, warming his cheeks. The room tilts a little, as he leans forward towards Goto’s face. There are beads of sweat gathering along his friend’s hairline.

“Goto-san,” he says, his voice sounding more serious than he means it to. “I know I probably haven’t been the best friend in the world lately, but I promise, you can trust me.”

Goto’s face looks strange for a second, hollow, and dark, but it softens out so quickly that Masayoshi wonders if he’s imagined it.

“You know I trust you,” Goto says quietly. “You’re probably the most trustworthy person I know.”

“Then you’ll tell me about her?”

Goto stares at Masayoshi for a long moment, so long that his skin starts to prickle under the attention. A shiver runs all the way down his arms, and along the back of his neck.

“She’s a lot like you, actually,” Goto finally says.

Masayoshi watches Goto’s lips press together into a thin line. Watches the edge of his tongue dart out, and then back in.

“She’s persistent,” he continues. “She doesn’t give up, not for anything.”

Masayoshi nods. He stares at Goto, practically holding his breath. “What else?”

“She’s really bright. I don’t mean smart,” Goto clarifies, and Masayoshi squints at him in the semi-darkness. “She is smart, but… Bright, too. The room, everything around her. Things light up when she’s there.”

Masayoshi internalizes this for a second. He thinks of the photos he’s seen of his grandmother, how she’s inspired his grandfather in so many ways. He wonders if she’d had the kind of light Goto is talking about. If his grandfather had felt this way.

“She sounds great,” Masayoshi says, meaning it. “It must make you really happy to have someone like that – you’re really lucky.”

“I don’t know,” Goto says, and when he meets Masayoshi’s eyes, something dark flashes there again, just for a second. It makes Masayoshi want to reach out, to wrap his arms around Goto and not let go. It’s not the first time he’s felt something like this, but this time it hits him with such force that he has to look away, down at his hands, as his heart races in his chest.

“She really likes you, by the way,” Goto adds.

Masayoshi’s eyes widen. “Really? Why?”

“No idea,” he says with a shrug. “I must only tell her the good stories.”

“You tell her stories about me?"

“Of course I do, idiot.”

Masayoshi isn’t sure what to do with all of this information, especially when his head feels so strange – heavy and light at the same time, with so many thoughts coming and going at once. Some he understands perfectly well, but others feel mysterious and foreign, dangerous, maybe. He closes his eyes for a moment.

They’re sitting next to each other on the narrow bench, and suddenly Masayoshi is very much aware of the proximity of Goto’s leg to his. Even through layers of cotton and denim, Goto’s skin feels surprisingly close. On a whim, he slides his leg over, presses it up against Goto’s, and keeps it there. He should probably move, but doesn’t think he could even if he wanted to; it’s as if his legs have turned to jelly.

It feels perfect, Masayoshi realizes, the perfect sensation. It’s a strange thought to have - Masayoshi doesn’t really understand what it means, but he’s positive that it’s the truth. It feels so perfect that it sends a shiver down his spine, and sets the hairs on his arms on end. He watches Goto bring his drink to his lips, watches his Adam’s apple as he swallows. Goto’s leg doesn’t move.

Masayoshi finds his drink, and finishes it off in two long sips. He’s not sure if it makes him feel powerful, or completely powerless, but either way it’s not an unpleasant feeling. The numbness that washes over him quiets the thoughts in his head, weakens them like the jelly in his legs, leaving him with a calm sense of curiosity, of acceptance.

They sit there in silence for a moment, and then another. Masayoshi tries to make out the song on the bar’s sound system – he recognizes it from the last variety show he’d been on. They’d played it in between commercials to the live audience.

Finally Goto’s leg shifts. The absence of contact makes Masayoshi’s stomach turn over and then back again.

“I’m going out for a cigarette,” Goto says, and Masayoshi nods, thinking he could use some air himself.

Inside it feels close and thick; the bar’s been filling up since they arrived. They have to push past a small group of people standing near the entrance on their way to the door.

Masayoshi thinks it feels a bit like he’s making his way through a giant bubble, the way the wall of backs shift and propel him forward through the space.

**

Outside, the night air is cool and clear.

Goto leans against a grey wall that’s speckled with tiny, white stones. He inhales slowly, and exhales the smoke upwards. The rings float above the walls of the alley, up into the sky, against the circle of moonlight above them.

Masayoshi follows the smoke with his eyes, all the way up to the faint stars, and then back to Goto’s lips. It makes him a little dizzy, to be honest, but he doesn’t care. He knows it’s a bad habit, too, and that someday he’ll probably try to convince his friend to give it up, but… There’s something enjoyable about watching him, too. Goto’s concentration, maybe, the focused press of his lips, the casual turn of his fingers as he brings them away from his mouth and then back again.

After Goto has finished, Masayoshi notices something on the ground by his friend’s feet – a candy wrapper, or a discarded receipt, maybe. He leans down, figuring he’ll toss it in the bin at the end of the alley on their way back, but as soon as he moves towards it, it’s as if the world suddenly flips over on itself. He can’t quite focus, but he thinks the ground may be rushing towards his face.

“Careful,” Goto says, and his voice is close, right against Masayoshi’s ear. “You okay? Maybe we should call it a night.”

Even after he’s stopped talking, the words cling there against Masayoshi’s ear. He can feel Goto’s arm against his chest, a warm, strong weight holding him in place, and when he glances up, Goto’s face is right there. A little blurry, but close enough that he can feel Goto’s breath, strong and heady and smoky, right up against his face.

“I’m okay,” he says as the world rights itself, and Goto’s face starts to come into focus. “I’m good.”

Masayoshi can feel the weight of Goto’s hand against his side, and his chest. He’s thinking he should thank Goto, for saving him from ending up sprawled on the ground just now, and then suddenly there’s a flurry of motion and sensation.

Before he realizes what’s happening, his back is up against the wall and Goto’s mouth is on his, his lips against Masayoshi’s. His tongue moves against the seam of Masayoshi’s lips until they part, and Goto’s fingers tug their hips together. His tongue swirls around Masayoshi’s mouth. Goto’s entire body is so close, it’s as if he’s all around him, coming from all directions at once. It’s almost too much to process.

Goto’s hands can’t seem to decide where they want to be, either. They’re around Masayoshi’s waist, then they’re snaking up along his torso, then they’re on his neck, brushing against his collarbone. His fingers slide across Masayoshi’s cheekbones, along his jawline, around his earlobes. They thread through his hair, right at the base of his neck. And then they settle around his face, steadying them both, and giving their lips more direction, making them less sloppy. Not that Masayoshi really minds sloppy. He feels like he can barely register half of the sensations happening to him right now, but even so, he’s pretty sure he’s okay with sloppy.

He’s never done this before, not really. In high school there’d been a girl who’d kissed him behind the bleachers after a basketball game, but that had been nothing at all like this. This feels urgent, and raw. Not like Goto had been planning for this to happen, but like he’d been thinking about it, like he’d imagined this before, maybe. The thought surprises Masayoshi, brings heat to his cheeks and makes his heart race – it’s pounding harder than it has during the worst of the fights he’s been in, he’s sure of it. It’s as if he can’t get close enough to Goto, even though he’s sure they’re closer now than they’ve been before.

When he decides he has to take a breath or he’ll completely suffocate, it comes out as a gasp, ragged and strange to his ears. He tilts his head back, and Goto’s lips find his throat. When he applies pressure, sucking against the skin there, when he can feel the brush of Goto’s tongue against the soft skin behind his ear, he gasps again.

Goto groans against his neck. Masayoshi’s head is swimming, and somewhere, something is telling him that despite how new, and exciting, and exhilarating this feels, it probably shouldn’t be happening. He’s thinking of Goto’s girlfriend - the composite image he’s created of her flashes in front of him over and over again. He tries to put it out of his head but he can’t, she’s right there next to them.

And then Goto’s hands let go of his waist, they stop tugging him closer. Slowly and deliberately, Goto’s fingers tuck a strand of Masayoshi’s hair behind his ear, as Goto stares into his face. Masayoshi has gotten good at reading fear, and he sees it now, just for a second, in Goto’s eyes. And then his hands are on Masayoshi’s chest. Soft at first, and then firm. Goto is pushing him away, pushing himself away from Masayoshi, putting distance between them.

The tense feeling in Masayoshi’s stomach is the same one he has when he’s fighting and he knows the enemy is about to land a punch on him. Lots of times he can see the blow coming, but he lets it happen anyway. He knows he can take it, after all, that a few scrapes and bruises are inevitable.

Goto leans forward on his knees, breathing hard.

Masayoshi closes his eyes, and the stars keep spinning around in his head.

The alley is quiet. All he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears, and his heart thumping in his chest. After a moment, other sounds start to emerge, too. Like the world is waking up and coming alive around him - Goto's measured breathing, the scuff of his sneakers against the pavement, a car passing on the street opposite them.

Kaname had told him once that part of being a hero is realizing that there are things you can change, and things you can’t. Masayoshi has also learned that there are things that will change whether you want them to or not.

He thinks his problem is that he’s never really been able to tell the difference, even when he’s right in the middle of it.

**

Back at the bar, Goto orders another round.

It’s as if time has slowed down around them. Even Masayoshi’s thoughts feel slow and deliberate. It’s hard to focus on Goto’s face, which is just as well, because when he does, all he can think of is Goto’s lips against his, Goto’s tongue against his neck. He’s not sure he’s supposed to be thinking about that, now that they’re back in here, but he can’t help it. The moments keep resurfacing whether he wants them to or not - the hard angle of the wall against his back, the look in Goto’s eyes just before they moved away from each other...

He’s thinking about Goto’s girlfriend, too. Goto had said more about her tonight than he ever had in the past, but it still seems like there’s something big that he’s missing, something that has nothing to do with the alley, or the warmth of Goto’s leg, or the feeling of Goto’s lips against his - something deeper than all of that. Something Goto doesn’t want to show him, maybe. Masayoshi doesn’t understand, but he wants to, more than anything. Wants Goto to trust him, wants him to be able to tell him anything.

“I’m glad,” Masayoshi says after a moment. “That you told me about your girlfriend.”

Goto gives him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

“I was just thinking about the things you said about her. She must be really happy, to have someone like you think so highly of her.” Masayoshi takes a long breath, and a long sip of his drink. “You should tell me more, someday.”

Goto’s face shuts down for a moment then- it’s like a shadow’s fallen over him and greyed everything out. It makes Masayoshi’s heart hammer in his chest, makes him nervous that he’s said the wrong thing, or maybe that he’s called attention to something that he shouldn’t have, he doesn’t know.

But the look on Goto’s face doesn’t make sense. It’s just like before, and more than anything, Masayoshi wants to reach out, want to show Goto that he’s here, because it feels important, even if he doesn’t understand why.

He brushes his fingers against the inside of Goto’s wrist where it’s lying there exposed on the table, next to his glass of beer. It’s just for a second, two at the most, but Masayoshi watches Goto’s face soften a little.

“I meant what I said before,” Goto says finally. “When I said you two were alike. I meant it. Ask Ishihara-san, if you don’t believe me,” he continues. “She knows all about you being able to light up a room. That’s what you get paid for on all those photo shoots, right?”

“That’s different,” Masayoshi says, flushing.

“No,” Goto says. “It’s not.”

When Goto brings his hand up to ruffle Masayoshi’s hair, Masayoshi leans into it, presses his cheek against Goto’s shoulder for a moment. Goto’s fingers make his scalp tingle and his heart pound a little harder.

“You have something really special,” Goto tells him. “Trust me. I told you before - you have the power to change people. Even someone like me.” Goto’s fingers press against his head tightly for a moment, before he moves his hand. “Especially someone like me. That’s a really unique talent.”

“Thanks,” Masayoshi says after a long moment. “I think that might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me, but…”

Masayoshi can feel the pressure creeping up his throat, can feel the lump there. He squeezes his eyes shut tight. Things have changed so much already, they’re changing all the time, and he should be used to it by now - he is, and he knows that there are things that will always be out of his control, but…

“What if I don’t I want you to change?”

Goto is quiet for a moment. Then he lets out a breath.

“I think it’s too late for that.”

And there’s something about Goto’s voice now that silences Masayoshi, that stops him from protesting, from telling Goto that there’s no reason why he should change, that he’s fine, exactly like this, and that it’s only the people who want to bring evil into the world that Masayoshi would ever want to change. He feels suddenly small, watching Goto. He wonders how much there is that he doesn’t know about his friend, wonders why that gap suddenly feels so large right now.

“I haven’t always been like this, you know,” Goto says after a moment.

“Like what?”

Goto takes a sip of his beer. He shakes his head, and then looks over at Masayoshi. His voice is quiet.

“Back when we first met, you said you didn’t have any friends. And I always thought to myself that it didn’t seem possible. You’re pretty much the most likable person on the planet, right? And then I realized that I understood perfectly. Because I’m the same. Or I was, before I met you.” Goto sighs. “I guess what I’m trying to say that I’m not that great at making friends either. But something changed, when I met you. That night… I found myself—"

Goto’s voice cuts off, he clears his throat.

“I found myself moving forward.” Goto takes a breath, and meets Masayoshi’s eyes for a moment before he looks away.

“And tonight,” he says, and his voice is so quiet, Masayoshi can barely hear him. “Tonight I didn’t even give it a second thought, I just…”

Goto looks up at him a little helplessly.

“Yeah,” Masayoshi says, nodding. “I think I know what you mean.”

He's not actually sure whether or not that's true, but there are flashes of images moving through his head – that first night in the alley, the night he’d first met Goto, and tonight, in a different alley, the feeling of Goto’s lips pressed against his, and a hundred other moments in between. Rescuing Goto’s umbrella, an endless stream of monsters, the day those cops had died, and the tight feeling it had brought in his chest, realizing how much danger they were all really in. And then later, at the Flamengers base, feeling cut off from everything he’s ever known, but fighting every day for what he believes in, for what he wants to protect. He’s not sure he would have been able to do that, if he hadn’t met Goto. He’s not sure he would have moved from that alley that first night, if it hadn’t been for Goto, calling him out. He thinks he might still be out on the street hiding behind garbage bins, a public nuisance, nothing more.

Goto had asked him who he was that night, and Masayoshi had told him. A superhero. He’s not sure it would be true today, if it hadn’t been for that moment.

Something swells in his chest - acceptance, maybe, and relief. He's been on the right path after all. He realizes that now.

“Goto-san,” he says, and Goto doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, just stares at him.

There’s a song playing in the background that Masayoshi can just barely make out over the din of the bar. He thinks it might be MMM’s latest single, the one with the English words mixed in with the chorus. The room is buzzing around him again, bleeding in around the edges. Mari sings about the color of dreams, and Masayoshi thinks that her voice has never sounded so beautiful.

“Goto-san, from now on,” Masayoshi says, “let’s move forward together.”

Goto stares at him for a long moment. Masayoshi can see hints of something sad in his eyes – it reminds him of the feeling in the pit of his stomach when he thinks his grandfather, and his parents. But there’s something else there, too, something in Goto’s eyes that feels bright and clear. It feels like hope. It’s what Masayoshi sees in the eyes of the people he’s been able to protect, the people who trust their lives to him, and the other Flamengers. It’s the best part of being a superhero. Maybe it’s the best part of being a friend, too.

“Yeah,” Goto says finally. “Okay.”

And then Goto smiles a little, not with his mouth, not really, but with the corners of his eyes. They’re soft around the edges, and warm. It makes Masayoshi feel like he can he can do anything. Like he can defeat anything that comes his way.

And then he blinks, and the room spins on its axis, goes a little wobbly at the corners. He feels Goto’s hand on his shoulder.

“First step in moving forward is getting you home in one piece, okay? Come on, lightweight,” Goto says, and he starts to get up from the table. “Let me walk you home.”

Masayoshi doesn’t even bother arguing with the assessment, he just lets Goto wrap his arm around his elbow, lets Goto steer him around the table, through the bubble of people, and out into the cool night air again.

This is trust, Masayoshi thinks, as the brisk air fills his lungs and he looks up at the faint glow of stars above them. This feeling in his chest that makes him want to take on the world. He trusts Goto more than anyone else in the world right now. He wonders if Goto feels it too. If not now, Masayoshi is sure that he’ll feel it someday.

Someday, Masayoshi thinks, feeling the warm press of Goto’s arm around his shoulder, guiding him home.

Someday I’ll return this favor.

end

In which I unearth the feels of many years past...

2014-02-24T06:42:15Z

So I'm going to really date myself here, but I am having an extreme case of nostalgia right now for... (wait for it) Life Goes On. XD;; I wonder if anyone else is old enough to remember this show? >_> Honestly, my life pretty much revolved around this show when it was on, and of course, I was completely in love with Jesse, and completely captivated by Jesse and Becca and their epic, star-crossed love story and pretty much those last two seasons broke my heart forever?

And what's crazy to me is that it seems like seasons 3 and 4 of that show are completely not available anywhere. There's one episode on YouTube. And one fan video. And that's it. ;_;

I'm going to shut up now before I make you think I've completely lost it, but... GAH. I just watched the one lone episode that's available, and of course it was the most depressing episode ever. I was really curious to see if it held up... I mean, I remember this episode being the most heartbreaking thing ever at the time, but I really had no idea what it would be like watching it now, a billion years later, but... Yep. All the feels. Still there. The tears, too. XD;;

Okay, I'm going to go over here now, and try to forget about how old this makes me feel, lol :P

I mean seriously. I used to record this show every week on VHS. This was a very, very long time ago. And I would totally watch it again in a heartbeat if I could! T_T

Hello, flist! It's been a while! ^_~

2014-02-14T18:02:06Z

So I recently finished reading a book of short stories by an author I discovered really randomly - I basically picked up the book on a table at a bookstore because the title (This Cake Is for the Party) intrigued me, and ended up buying the book, and really enjoying it.

I was a little disapointed to find out that she hasn't published anything else yet, but in the process, I looked her up online and realized that she has a series of daily writing prompts that she sends out if you subscribe to her email list, and also a number of essays on writing, advice for writers type stuff, and all of that made me like her even more? IDK, lots of times I don't really connect with typical "advice for writers" sorts of things, so this was a pleasant surprise.

And so for the past week, I've been feeling horrible because of course I signed up for the daily prompts and then...did absolutely nothing with them. >_> But! Today I did my first one! And I'm going to try really hard to keep up with them. Ten minutes a day really isn't that horrible of a commitment to make to writing, but I frequently surprise myself by not being able to convince myself to sit down and write things, even for that small amount of time. :P Maybe this will be my new years resolution of sorts? IDK. I know a lot of people don't like prompts, but... I like them a lot :D The more specific, the better, really, and so far the ones I've gotten from her list have been pretty varied. Some are really specific, and then others are more vague. *nod*

So. Yes. I don't know why I'm rambling on about this really? But if you're curious, the author is Sarah Selecky, and her site is here. I'd highly recommend her book, and... The prompts, if you're into that sort of thing. :D

The end. :D Oh, and Happy Valentine's Day, too. If you're into that sort of thing. ^_~

♥ ♥ ♥

(I'm also really going to try to update here more often too, IDK what happened with this new year and me not updating! :P I hope all is well with everyone though! <333)

[Fic] Start Anywhere

2014-02-12T22:03:25Z

Title: Start Anywhere
Fandom: Samurai Flamenco
Pairing: Goto Hidenori/Hazama Masayoshi
Warnings/Spoilers: vague spoilers through episode 11
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,899

Summary: It’s hard to become a superhero overnight without experiencing a bit of an identity crisis.

Notes: I wanted to experiment with writing from Masayoshi’s POV here – it’s basically my idea of what a reunion/reconnection with Goto would look like during the From Beyond arc (before the twist we see at the end of episode 15). ^_^

The other Flamengers sleep at the base, but more often than not, Masayoshi finds himself back at his apartment in the city at the end of the day. No one questions his commute, or his time spent away from the group. They know about Ishihara-san, about his obligations.

His space is quiet, and calm. It sprawls around him effortlessly, and for that, he’s grateful. He’s never known how to do anything effortlessly. Not really, anyway.

He’s grateful for the familiar curve of the couch, for the water pressure in the shower, and the boxes of action figures lining his closet, even for the ashtray out on the balcony that’s almost full to the brim with cigarette butts that don’t belong to him. He can relax when he’s here, surrounded by these things. Without it, he’s sure he wouldn’t recognize the person staring back at him in the mirror every morning. He still doesn’t, sometimes.

He wonders what other people see, when his image pops up in magazines, or on the evening news. He wonders if they can see all the way down to his core, like he feels like they can, sometimes. He wonders how obvious his uncertainty is, if it feels like a betrayal.

He wonders what Goto sees.

And then he reminds himself that he already knows, that Goto’s eyes always reflect the truth. What he sees in them is enough to make his skin crawl, if he’s not careful.

**

Sometimes he sits there in the darkness, and remembers a time in the not so distant past, when he might have been sitting here with Goto, the lights down, and an episode of Harakiri Sunshine playing up on the screen. He remembers a time when that, at least, had felt effortless. He thinks about switching the TV system on, and sometimes he does, but more often than not he can’t bring himself to do it. His heroes have become less recognizable, too, and he’s not brave enough to examine what that might mean.

Goto could probably tell him.

But Masayoshi is a coward; he would never ask something like that that of his friend. He could never burden Goto with something so trivial.

**

Days pass in a blur of obligations – photo shoots, awards shows, hair and makeup. And then of course there’s the actual job, the fighting, which lately tends to boil down to its component parts – the plastic of the suit, the smell of explosives, his teammates’ voices in his ears. Sometimes, there’s blood. The thick, coppery tang of it settles in his nose and his throat.

There’s a numbness that sets in, in certain moments. He can feel its creep, starting with his skin and working its way through his muscles, his blood, his bones. It keeps him going through long-winded speeches that extol the virtues of the Flamengers, praising their efforts in saving the city from an endless stream of foes. It keeps him clear-headed during fights, keeps him connected to his teammates, in tune with them. It keeps him calm when he wants to scream, when he wants to tell them that all of this feels like a joke sometimes, like a ridiculous ploy to get them to serve as entertainment for the masses.

Sometimes the numbness lingers. It drapes over him like a heavy coat at the end of the day. A buffer that separates him from the rest of the world, from the person he was when he had the luxury of depending on others.

He’s not sure if he wants to shake it off, or draw it closer.

**

It’s late, past ten on a Tuesday, and normally, Masayoshi would probably still be working. But the rehearsal for tomorrow’s variety show had been cancelled at the last second. He’s been sitting around with the script half open on his lap, doing what he can to prepare on his own for the past hour or so. When his phone buzzes at him, he nearly jumps.

He answers without thinking, and suddenly, Goto is there on the other end of the line. It takes him a couple of seconds to find his voice.

“…And so I told him he should call you directly, but you know these bureaucratic types, always need a middle man. I can call Ishihara-san in the morning – I just wanted to run it by you first.”

“Sorry,” Masayoshi finds himself saying. “You kind of caught me in the middle of something.”

He knows his voice must sound strange, he has a feeling he’s pausing in all the wrong places.

“Hey,” Goto says, and there’s a softness to his tone that does something funny to Masayoshi’s stomach. “Is everything okay? You sound kind of off.”

“I’m—" Masayoshi starts, but he’s not expecting his voice to break off so quickly. He swallows, and the lump in his throat gets bigger. “Sorry,” he says. “I’m okay, it’s just been…”

“What?” Goto prompts, as Masayoshi tries to pull himself together.

“I’ve just been really busy,” he manages. “Busy is good though, right?”

“Not always,” Goto says, and Masayoshi can hear the frown in his voice. “Look, I’m right around the corner – mind if I stop by?”

There’s a rush of panic that slams up against him – he doesn’t really understand it, but it’s the same jittery feeling of dread he’s been experiencing for a while now when he thinks about calling Goto, or when he remembers how easy it used to be, sharing a meal together, or finding the time to talk on the phone, even. Everything feels like a risk now, even something as innocent as this - a friend stopping by unexpectedly. Especially this, maybe.

There’s a voice inside his head that he can’t shake, that tells him he’s a coward, that he has one friend, just one, and that he can’t even handle that. He can’t keep a single thing safe amidst all this chaos. And it’s true. He can’t keep their friendship safe anymore than he can keep anything else safe. It’s all malleable – his life, the world he thought he knew. Even this, the one thing he thought wouldn’t change.

But the tone of Goto’s voice is familiar, comfortable and teasing. He’s telling Masayoshi that honestly, he doesn’t care if Masayoshi minds or not, because he’s already on his way, that he’ll bring food, that he’s hanging up. And then he does hang up, and Masayoshi is left with the quiet of the apartment to surround him again.

It takes him a second to realize that it’s his heart that he can hear pounding in his chest, thumping so hard in the silence, persistent and alive.

**

He buzzes Goto in about ten minutes later. Masayoshi stands there in the genkan, shifting from foot to foot as he waits, surprised by the way his heart seems to sail up a little with each familiar sound until finally there’s a knock at the door.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Goto says by way of greeting, as he toes off his shoes.

He smells like the city as he passes – like outside, and freedom, and danger. Masayoshi wraps his fingers around the door frame, gripping it tight.

“I brought curry.” Goto holds up the conbini bag as proof. “Even had them warm it up. I figured you might not have anything on hand, since you’re gone so much these days.”

“Yeah, I’ve been eating between jobs a lot – Ishihara-san knows what I like.”

“You mean she knows all the curry places within a 2 kilometer radius at all times…”

Masayoshi realizes how tense he must have been when he laughs, and the air in the room suddenly feels about a hundred times lighter.

“Yeah, maybe,” he admits, smiling a little.

Goto hands him a bowl of curry and a plastic spoon. It’s warm, and the lid is completely fogged over. He wouldn’t know it was curry inside at all, except for the smell.

“I’m starving,” Goto says, and starts to dig in.

Masayoshi watches him for a second before he remembers that he’s supposed to be eating too.

The curry warms the tips of his fingers, and his mouth. It’s good. The flavor is rich enough, but it’s nothing like his homemade variety. He’s not usually one to succumb to nostalgia, but right now, he’s almost floored by it. It flushes in his cheeks, and brings a lump to his throat that he has trouble swallowing past. He closes his eyes, gripping the plastic spoon so hard he’s surprised it doesn’t break in half.

He doesn’t realize that Goto has been saying his name until he feels a firm grip on his arm. When he opens his eyes, Goto’s face is right there, so close he has to blink a few times before he can properly focus on him. His friend’s eyes are alert and bright with concern, searching his face.

This is not something that is supposed to happen. Heroes are strong, they inspire trust in their friends. That trust is absolute, it’s what protects them from the evils of the world, what inspires them to keep going, even when their lives and livelihoods are threatened at every turn. It’s what keeps them safe. Heroes don’t depend on people; it’s the other way around. It has to be.

“Please,” Goto is saying, and Masayoshi realizes that Goto’s grip on his arm has gotten even tighter. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“No,” Masayoshi says. “I’m sorry.”

He tries halfheartedly to pull his arm away from Goto, and when that doesn’t work, he decides he’ll go into full evasive maneuver mode, Flamenger-style. This works a lot better. He’s had countless drills with Kaname-san, after all, but in the process, he knocks his container of curry to the floor. He watches rice spill out over the edge of the bowl, and curry slop onto the floor in a giant lump. For a second he’s paralyzed. If he moves at all, he’s sure he’ll be right in Goto’s grips again.

He stands there for a second, watching Goto watch him, his eyes wide. When Goto takes a step towards him, he doesn’t take a step back like he should, and in a second, Goto’s arm is firmly wrapped around Masayoshi’s elbow. Before he has a chance to maneuver his away out again, he’s being led back to the couch. Goto instructs him to sit, and he does. He’s surprised when Goto walks past him and into the kitchen.

He comes back with a couple of towels, and after the curry mess has been sorted, he sits down on the couch next to Masayoshi and lets out a sigh.

“You’re a lot of work when you’re like this, you know that?”

Masayoshi frowns. “Like what?”

“Well, that’s what I’d like to find out.”

“I can’t—I’m sorry.”

“You keep saying that. The problem is,” Goto says, staring pointedly at Masayoshi, “I don’t have a clue what it means.”

Masayoshi can’t think of a single thing to say to that.

“Look.” Goto sighs. “Let me get something straight. We’re friends, right?”

“Of course,” Masayoshi says quickly. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Because friends, well… They talk to each other. They share things. And I don’t know the first thing about anything in your life anymore.”

The words hang there for a second between them.

“Are you angry with me?” Masayoshi asks. His voice is flat, like he wants it to be, but it hardly feels like an accomplishment with Goto looking at him like this, like he wants to punch him in the face, maybe.

“Damn right I’m angry!” Goto says, and his eyes flash up to Masayoshi’s.

He can tell that Goto means it. The look in his eyes makes something twist in Masayoshi’s stomach. He feels sick.

“Do you want to know why?” Goto’s voice is a touch softer now.

“Yes,” Masayoshi tells him, nodding. “Yes, please.”

“I gave up a lot for you. Took a lot of risks to try and keep you safe. I did my best to protect you. And then I supported you. And all of that… It’s not something I take lightly. Friendship,” Goto says, looking straight at Masayoshi, “is not something I take lightly.”

“And I get that you’re busy, and that all of this takes a toll on your social life, but when I see you like this, when you’re upset, and you won’t tell me why, well… I guess I just wish you trusted me half as much as you’ve asked me to trust you.”

Goto runs his hand over his face, and lets out a weird, throaty laugh that Masayoshi barely recognizes. “How’s that for honesty?”

Masayoshi tries to smile, but he can feel his face crumpling before he’s even halfway there. Before he knows it, hot, ugly, messy tears are rolling down his face. He tries to brush them away, tries to swallow them back but it’s not working, he can feel them sliding down past his chin, and his neck. It’s hopeless, he thinks. He’s ruined everything.

“I’m sorry,” he says, even though he knows it doesn’t mean anything, that the words are empty without some kind of explanation. He has no idea where he’d even start if he wanted to. If he’d ever finish once he did.

When Goto pulls him close, he’s relieved.

He can feel his friend’s hands on his back, knotted up in the folds of his sweater, trying to find the right grip. He experiments with those words again - a quiet I'm sorry against Goto’s chest, right over Goto’s heart. He says it because he means it, and somehow the words don’t sound nearly as empty now. Goto being here like this suddenly feels like a gift, like something he hadn’t even realized he wanted so badly until this moment.

“I’m sorry I’m so bad at this,” Masayoshi says. His head feels heavy; he’s grateful for Goto’s shoulder, for the hand against his neck, holding him in place. “I do trust you. But I don’t know how to be a good friend to you. I don’t know how to be a hero. I don’t really know how to do anything,” he whispers.

Goto’s fingers thread through his hair for a moment; it’s comforting and familiar, and Masayoshi wonders if maybe there’s still a tiny spark of good under all of this, a tiny shimmer of hope, maybe.

“I wanted to come and find you so many times, to call you and tell you about everything, but… I think there might be too much,” he admits.

“It’s not all or nothing, you know. You can start small,” Goto says, and the sound is so close, it could be inside Masayoshi’s head. “Or start big, it doesn’t matter - just talk to me.”

Masayoshi takes a deep breath. Goto is breathing, too, he can feel the rise and fall of it against his cheek.

“I missed you so much,” Masayoshi says, because it’s both the biggest, and the smallest thing he can think of. He pulls away for a second, and realizes that Goto is grinning at him.

“I missed you too, you idiot.”

Masayoshi laughs, and then just as he’s about to wonder what he’s supposed to do next, Goto kisses him.

At first it’s just a quick brush of his lips against Masayoshi’s - impulsive, maybe - but then Goto takes a steady breath, and then another before he lines them up properly, and starts again. This time it’s as if all the air in the room has suddenly evaporated. Their shared breath is a lifeline, the only thing keeping him afloat.

This is like none of the times they’ve done this before. It’s deliberate, full of weight, and purpose.

On second thought, it’s a little like the first time, maybe. But there’s less fumbling, less bumping of noses, less hesitation, because they’ve already mapped this out. Goto tastes the same, like cigarettes and curry, and like something darker, something less easy-to-distinguish, too. It’s amazing, Masayoshi thinks, that all of this has survived. He thinks it could undo everything, that all of the strength he’s built up, all that independence could vanish in a day, maybe, in an hour.

He doesn’t feel like a hero at all, with his lips pressed against Goto’s like this. He feels like some other, better version of himself, maybe. He could lose himself in this feeling. Part of him wants to.

“You know you can tell me anything,” Goto says a moment later. His lips brush against Masayoshi’s, almost playful, but still a little tentative. “I’m a cop, remember? I’ve heard everything before. Well, almost everything.”

Masayoshi nods. He can feel Goto’s breath against his nose; there’s warmth all around him. He’s not sure if he’s unraveling, or being stitched back together. If this is the beginning, or the beginning of the end. He knows he’s done things that may change the way Goto sees him. It’s all become so complicated.

He honestly doesn’t know where to start. He stares helplessly at Goto.

“Just start anywhere,” Goto says. “I’m sharper than I look.”

Masayoshi smiles and it feels a bit like parting the fog, like rubbing his hand across the mirror after he’s stepped out of the shower, messy streaks that drip onto the edges of the sink.

If he squints, he thinks he can almost make out someone he recognizes on the other side.

end

[Fic] an invisible umbrella

2014-01-08T00:28:31Z

Title: an invisible umbrella
Fandom: Samurai Flamenco
Pairing: Goto Hidenori/Hazama Masayoshi
Warnings/Spoilers: none
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,067

Summary: Goto has never liked cemeteries.

Notes: This is a fill for the kinkmeme, for the prompt: “Visiting Masayoshi’s family grave”. (A little light on the hurt/comfort, anon, but I hope it still works!) There are also some hints here at a backstory for Goto that I’m sure will end up completely ruined as we get further along in the series, but… I suppose I’ll deal with that later! Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. ^_^

“I’ve been coming here a lot lately,” Masayoshi says. “There shouldn’t be too much to clean.”

The sky is bright and blue above them, and the grave markers poke up towards the clouds like thick grey popsicle sticks.

Goto rolls his shoulders back to rid himself of the tension that’s predictably gathered there and around his neck. When Masayoshi tells him that they’re almost there, he finds that he’s a little relieved.

Goto has never liked cemeteries. There isn’t really a good reason why. Other than his grandmother, and his father, he hasn’t had much of a reason to even consider them. It’s been nearly ten years now, since his father, even longer for his grandmother, and he’s never really made a habit of doing this anyway. Grave visits had always seemed kind of pointless to him.

They’re not necessarily bad places though, he tells himself. He looks over at Masayoshi – there’s a hint of a smile on his friend’s lips, like he’s happy to be here. Well, it was his idea, Goto figures.

“You’re looking cheerful,” Goto remarks.

Masayoshi stops walking and just stares at him for a moment. “You don’t really like places like this, do you, Goto-san.”

“Well, I wouldn’t count them among my favorite places to be,” Goto says honestly, and they keep walking. “But it’s fine. I don’t mind.”

An older man passes them, making his way purposefully down the path on the opposite side. They nod to each other and exchange greetings.

“I just kind of wanted you to meet him, you know?” Masayoshi says, and Goto’s breath catches in his throat for a second.

He swallows; he’s not really sure what to say. Oddly enough, he’d been thinking the same thing in that moment. He’d gotten this image, after they’d passed the man on the path, of a much older Masayoshi, his face lined with wisdom and experience, but with the same bright, bold eyes. Of course, he would have loved to have met him.

“This is it,” Masayoshi says, as he stops in front of a completely normal looking plot, among many others.

It’s almost identical to the one to Goto’s right, and the one to their left. Goto isn’t sure what he was expecting, really. He watches Masayoshi brush a little dirt from the base of the marker with his hand. He smiles up at Goto, his eyes glinting a little in the bright afternoon sunlight.

Goto studies the characters on the stone marker, trying to turn them into something meaningful, and failing, as always. This is why, maybe, he thinks. A whole life, reduced to this. Engravings on a piece of stone.

“I need a cigarette,” Goto says, and he steps back from the grave because it feels somehow disrespectful, so close to, well… Better safe than sorry, maybe.

He takes a couple more steps back until he’s on the path again, which seems to be a fair enough distance away. He stares down at a large, sturdy looking tree towards the end of the row of markers, and lets the smoke pass through his lips, slow and steady.

After a moment, he glances back over at Masayoshi. His friend is standing in front of the grave marker, his back straight, his posture respectful, firm. Goto squints, wonders if Masayoshi is praying.

He takes another long drag, and then stubs out his cigarette. Walks back over to Masayoshi. He apologizes, partly for the cigarette, partly for wandering off, because it feels like the right thing to do. The entire cemetery is probably a no smoking zone.

Masayoshi doesn’t say a word about the cigarette. He looks over at Goto, and gestures in front of them.

“My grandfather would have liked you,” Masayoshi says, and there’s a strange feeling in Goto’s stomach, in his chest.

He closes his eyes for a second, but it doesn’t do any good. It’s all Masayoshi there, too – a strand of shining, golden hair curling over an ear, a denim clad elbow, a patch of exposed skin, Masayoshi’s neck in the brisk, bright fall air.

He opens his eyes, and there’s a second where the two images come into focus together – the one in his mind, and the real one, standing right here in front of him.

“You think?” Goto says belatedly, and Masayoshi nods.

“Definitely.”

“Well, I think I would have liked him, too,” Goto says.

Masayoshi reaches over, and threads his fingers through Goto’s for a moment. He isn’t looking at him; he’s still looking straight ahead. The pads of his fingers are warm against Goto’s knuckles before he lets go.

Normally, this kind of conversation, in addition to the gesture, would tend to make Goto’s skin prickle, but right now his entire body, skin included just feels kind of warm, inside and out, like he’s standing next to a fire.

“I’ve decided, Goto-san,” Masayoshi says quietly. “I’m going to become a hero.”

“I thought you’d decided that a while ago.”

Masayoshi shakes his head. “I wasn’t sure before. What kind of hero I wanted to be. I thought if I didn’t know that, then maybe I should give it up.”

“Okay…”

“But now I’ve decided. I’ll become the kind of hero my grandfather would be proud of. And I’m going to do it my own way.”

“And what exactly does that mean?”

“I still don’t know yet,” Masayoshi says, and Goto laughs. “But I know it means that I have to become the kind of hero you can trust, and be proud of, too.”

The word hero coming from Masayoshi’s mouth always brings Goto back to the night they met, back when he was convinced that Masayoshi was the most immature nineteen year old he’d ever met, reckless, and possibly delusional. Of course since then, he’s had to come to terms with the reality of the situation, both in terms of the threat to the city, and the threat to Masayoshi himself. Somehow, putting on a suit and fighting crime isn’t exactly a fantasy anymore. It hasn’t been easy, making sense of it all.

Goto still feels like he straddles a fine line between wanting to protect his friend, and allowing him to go out there and do what he’s good at – what he needs to do. He never knows what to say when Masayoshi starts talking about heroes though. The word just doesn’t have the same weight for him as he knows it does for Masayoshi. It lies there between them like a dividing line. Lots of times, all Goto wants to do is brush it to the side and cross over.

“All you have to do is be yourself,” Goto says, quietly. “I don’t think you have to become anything. I don’t think that’s what your grandfather would have wanted, either, because…” He stops for a second. This is probably the last place where he should be trying to speak on behalf of the dead. “I mean, obviously, I didn’t know him, but I don’t think he would have wanted you to change anything about yourself, for the sake of this whole hero thing. More like,” Goto runs his hand over his head, suddenly feeling like a high school guidance counselor, “he would have wanted you to realize your own potential, something like that.”

“And so…” Masayoshi says, his voice flat. “Do you think that’s what I’m doing now?”

“I think you’re doing the best you can,” Goto says. “And I think that’s all anyone who cares about you could ever ask.”

Masayoshi’s head is turned away from Goto, and his shoulders are slumped forward a little.

“It’s hard,” Masayoshi says quietly. “Sometimes.”

“I know,” Goto says. “It’s hard for me, too.”

Masayoshi turns to him, confused.

“It’s not like I don’t worry about you when you’re out there, you know.”

“I worry about you, too, Goto-san. All the time. Something could attack the station, when I’m not around, or… ” Masayoshi says, raising his voice a little, panic creeping into his eyes. “What if something happens to you while I’m fighting somewhere else? I know I can’t protect everyone at once. That’s why I have to become stronger, better.”

Goto sighs. He's sympathetic, of course he is, but... He's also heard some version of this before, countless times.

“Come here,” he says, and he wraps his arm around his Masayoshi’s shoulders.

“No one,” Goto says, “not me, not him.” He gestures forward at the grave marker. “No one is expecting you to protect everyone all the time. You watch my back when you can, and vice versa, okay?”

There’s a line of warmth running down his side, where he’s pressed against Masayoshi.

“What do you think I did before you came along, anyway?” he says, as he loosens his grip on Masayoshi’s shoulder a little.

“I don’t know,” Masayoshi says, and turns in towards Goto. His face is close - all of him is, like they’re sharing an invisible umbrella, like there’s a storm up overhead that they’re ducking away from together.

“I don’t know either,” Goto admits.

Then he leans forward and brushes his lips against Masayoshi’s, feeling a surge in his chest at the contact, like his heart is leaping forward right into Masayoshi’s mouth.

It’s not the first time they’ve done this. There was the time with the umbrella, Masayoshi soaking wet in the back of a taxi, and Goto’s head still a little foggy from one or two too many drinks at the bar. When he looks back on it, it’s all a bit hazy, a mishmash of sensations. Masayoshi’s hair dripping all over his face and down his chest, his flushed skin, two very wet sets of lips.

There were other times, too – less hazy, more real. In Masayoshi’s genkan once, for no reason at all except that it had been late, and he’d been leaving even though he didn’t really want to. He didn’t know how to say that, so he’d done the other thing instead, and Masayoshi had deepened the kiss, and pressed Goto’s back up against the door, tripping over their shoes. It had taken Goto a while to realize that the doorknob was poking him in the ass, and that it really was kind of painful. He really did have to get back, too - early shift in the morning. Masayoshi had needed to wake up early too, a photo shoot, or a commercial, he can’t remember which.

Pressing his lips against Masayoshi’s out here in the daylight with the sun beating down against his neck is different. It’s good – bright, hyper-exposed. Masayoshi feels solid and alive in his arms. A breeze ripples through the air, and he can feel soft, blonde hair brush against his chin, and his forehead.

“Mm,” Masayoshi says against his lips, with a smile that Goto can barely focus on, their faces are so close.

“Sorry,” Goto says after a second, as the grey of the landscape around them slides back into focus, and he remembers exactly where they are. “That was probably kind of…”

“Inappropriate?” Masayoshi supplies, but he’s still huddled in towards Goto, his hands loosely resting on Goto’s hips. Goto is grateful - he’s not quite willing to break the spell yet either.

“Yeah, maybe a little,” Goto says, nodding. He likes this look in Masayoshi’s eyes, mischievous and sweet at the same time. “Sorry,” he says again, meaning it even less than he had the first time.

“I don’t really mind,” Masayoshi says. “But we should probably get going anyway, right?”

“Sure,” Goto says. “I know a great curry place a few blocks over, if you’re hungry.” He tugs at Masayoshi’s hand, and then lets his fingers drag lazily over Masayoshi’s knuckles, his wrist.

He’s surprised when Masayoshi maintains the contact, his fingers brushing back and forth across Goto’s palm, as they make their way back to the main path.

“Next time,” Masayoshi says, squeezing their palms together tightly.

“Next time, what?” Goto prompts, when they’ve reached the cemetery exit, and Masayoshi still hasn’t finished his thought.

“Nothing, I just…” Masayoshi’s hand tenses in his for a second. “I was just thinking that next time I’d like to meet, you know, your father. But it’s silly, I know you don’t—"

“Yeah,” Goto says, surprising himself completely. He squeezes Masayoshi’s hand tightly before he lets go, and they step back into civilization, into the bustle of the city. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

end

[Fic] The Hurricane Inclined Us

2013-12-19T18:41:47Z

Title: The Hurricane Inclined Us
Fandom: Samurai Flamenco
Pairing: Hazama Masayoshi/Goto Hidenori
Warnings/Spoilers: no warnings; vague spoilers through episode 8
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,624

Summary: Masayoshi and Goto, stuck in a very cold cabin in the mountains, during a blizzard.

Notes: This is a kinkmeme fill, for the prompt: Goto/Hazama (any order), stuck in a cabin during a blizzard and need to sleep together to stay warm, or something like that. Fic takes place roughly between episodes 8-10. Anon, I hope this is along the lines of what you had in mind! ^_^

Our lives depended on the visions through the night
All we had always, all we had always wanted to before
The hurricane inclined us, grappling on the floor

- All Delighted People, Sufjan Stevens

**

“Jesus, it’s freezing,” Goto mutters for about the tenth time in the last ten minutes.

He squints at Masayoshi across the dim room. The moon is bright enough, but the light barely reaches past the cabin’s small window frame, and the glow from the camping lantern Masayoshi had brought with him doesn’t quite reach the corners either. They might as well be sitting up here freezing their asses off in complete darkness.

“This is your fault,” Goto says, pointing one, cold finger out at his friend across the dusty, wood-paneled room.

Masayoshi is visibly shivering, propped up on a couple of old wooden crates, peering out of the cabin’s lone window into the darkness. He’s wearing a big fluffy down coat and snow pants over what Goto’s sure must be the newest version of his suit. Which only serves to remind Goto of just how cold it is in here.

“You didn’t have to come,” Masayoshi says, throwing a pointed stare across the room at Goto.

“I didn’t have all of the information,” Goto grumbles. “When you called me – on my day off, I might add - to announce that you’d received an anonymous ‘tip’ that one of King Torture’s minions was hiding out in the mountains and that you were going to ‘camp out’ in an attempt to ambush him, you didn’t tell me you were planning to actually, you know, camp out.”

“Camping out is camping out, Goto-san,” Masayoshi says flatly. “If you wanted more information, you could have asked.”

“You were already on your way!”

“So what?”

“So I wasn’t going to let you come up here on your own, that’s what.” Goto sighs. “It’s fine, I just… I wish I’d brought a pair of gloves.”

He shoves his hands deep into his pockets like he’s been doing for the past few hours.

“You can have mine if you want,” Masayoshi says, looking over at him (a little apologetically, Goto thinks) before he directs his attention out the window again. “I’m really not that cold.”

“You’re shivering,” Goto points out. He shakes his head. “And no, I don’t want your gloves.”

Masayoshi just shrugs, and looks out the window into the darkness again. Then he lets out a sigh. “There’s nothing out there but snow.”

“You think?” Goto says. He immediately feels bad about giving his friend such a hard time when he sees Masayoshi’s shoulders slump a little.

“Seriously,” he continues. “I think we can give up on the whole ambush plan now – there’s no way anything’s making it up here in this blizzard.”

“It is coming down pretty good,” Masayoshi agrees.

He hops down from his spot by the window, and sits across from Goto on the wooden floor. He looks up over the lantern.

“The weather forecast didn’t say it would be this bad.”

“I don’t know if it makes me feel better or worse that you actually checked the weather, and still thought it was a good idea to come out here,” Goto says, frowning.

Even in the mostly-darkness, Goto can see that Masayoshi’s nose has turned a deep red. His ears are red too, at least the tips of them, which are the only parts visible from under his thick ski hat. There’s a giant red pom-pom attached to the top of it that Goto kind of wants to pluck right off of his friend’s head.

Their breath huffs out in front of them like tiny clouds.

**

After another few hours, they start to pass from the uncomfortably cold phase of the evening, to the absolutely freezing and slightly delirious phase.

Masayoshi has taken to hopping around the room in an attempt to warm himself up, while Goto sits on the cold floor and stares up at him, wondering when the battery is going to give out on the lantern. It’s not generating any heat, obviously, but they’ve been huddled around it all night anyway, like it’s a fire that they can warm their hands on.

“Goto-san,” Masayoshi says, his voice a thin whine. “My knees hurt.”

“Then stop jumping around like that, and come sit down. You’re wasting all your energy anyway.”

“But it’s so cold,” Masayoshi offers plaintively. “What if we never get out of here?”

“It’s not that bad,” Goto says, though to be honest, he’s really not sure.

He doesn’t think the temperatures around here get to the levels of freezing where they’d have to worry about say, actually freezing to death, but… Well, the whole deliriously cold thing is making him wonder. He doesn’t exactly feel 100% capable of coherent thought at the moment.

“The sun will come out in the morning,” he tells Masayoshi, “the snow will stop, and we’ll be able to make our way back down the mountain. It’s just too dangerous to go out in the dark in the middle of a storm. Especially with no cell phone service.”

The chattering of his teeth make it difficult to get all of that out, but it looks to have done the trick. Masayoshi is nodding his agreement.

“Oh!” Masayoshi exclaims suddenly, beaming at Goto like he’s just won the lottery. “My sleeping bag!”

Goto’s eyes widen. “You have a sleeping bag? And you’re just remembering this now?!”

“Well, you said it was dangerous to fall asleep, and then I sort of forgot about it,” Masayoshi says sheepishly.

Goto listens to Masayoshi fumble around in the darkness for a few moments before he gets up and brings the lantern over to the far corner of the cabin.

He realizes he's a little lightheaded after a moment, probably from getting up so quickly after sitting in the same place for hours and hours in this ridiculous cold, and he reaches out for Masayoshi’s arm to steady himself.

“Sorry,” he says. “Got up too quickly.”

“Goto-san,” Masayoshi gasps, and suddenly there are Masayoshi’s giant gloved hands all over him, as his friend drops the sleeping bag at their feet, and focuses all of his attention on Goto.

“I’m fine – never mind me, just get the sleeping bag,” Goto says quickly.

He’s a little exasperated, but he has to admit—Masayoshi’s arms around him don’t feel half bad. It’s kind of nice, really. Lately he’s been feeling on edge when it comes to Masayoshi, ever since the whole King Torture saga began, like they’re suddenly unable to communicate with each other on the same level, but tonight it feels okay between them. Good, even. It’s a huge relief, actually.

After a minute or two spent convincing Masayoshi that he’s fine, really, and could Masayoshi please stop poking at him, they pick up the sleeping bag, and head back across the room to where they’d been sitting.

They unzip the bag and spread it out to its full size, which is pretty slow going with their half-numbed fingers, but finally they’re successful. Masayoshi lets out a long sigh of contentment, as he pulls the edge of the sleeping bag up to his chin. Goto stares at the patterns of light the lantern has plastered across the wooden walls of the cabin. It takes him a while to realize that half of the reason he’s so much warmer now is because Masayoshi’s entire body is practically on top of him, they’re sitting so close together, huddled under the blanket with their knees pulled up to their chins like elementary school kids at a sleepover. They sit like that for a few long minutes, just breathing in and out.

“That’s right,” Masayoshi says suddenly, and under the sleeping bag, Goto can feel him fiddling with something. A moment later, his friend’s bare hand emerges and before Goto can blink, Masayoshi’s hand is pressed against his forehead. It feels like absolute ice, but Goto doesn’t flinch. He kind of leans into it, actually.

“Oh thank god,” Masayoshi says, and takes his hand away. He smiles at Goto, before putting his glove back on. “I don’t think you have a fever. I guess you did just get up too quickly.”

Goto can’t do anything other than stare at Masayoshi, and after another couple of seconds, his friend’s face gets a strange, faraway look on it. It’s a look Goto has noticed pass over Masayoshi’s face a couple of times tonight – and a couple of times over the last few weeks, too.

“I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to you, Goto-san,” Masayoshi says, and his voice isn’t as steady as it was a moment ago. “I really don’t.”

“Hey,” Goto says, and in the warm cocoon between their bodies, he finds Masayoshi’s hand – it’s awkward, and he can barely tell it’s a hand at all under the thick glove, but he finds it, and squeezes it firmly. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

Masayoshi is quiet, but Goto can practically feel the tension coming off of him in waves.

“Don’t say that,” Masayoshi says, and Goto realizes that he’s trying to extract his hand from under the blanket.

“Okay, sorry, I just—"

And suddenly Masayoshi is scrambling away from him, out from under the sleeping bag, and he’s ripping off his gloves, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hands. Goto’s never seen his friend so agitated before. It’s kind of unnerving.

“You can’t promise me that you’ll be okay, so please – please don’t say it.” Masayoshi drops his head to his knees. “If you say it, I might believe you.”

Goto is more than a little dumbfounded at this sudden outburst. He’s sure a lot of it has to do with the situation though - the fact that it’s the middle of the night, and they’ve been freezing up here for hours now. Masayoshi is just probably exhausted, stressed.

Goto scoots over as quietly as he can to where Masayoshi is sitting. He wraps his arm around his friend’s shoulders, and pulls the sleeping bag back up over their knees.

“You’re right,” Goto says. “I can’t promise you that nothing will happen to me. But I can take care of myself – you know that. You’re also not so bad yourself when it comes to this whole superhero thing.”

Masayoshi’s head is still buried in his knees. He sniffles, and his shoulders are shaking a little. Goto isn’t sure if it’s from the cold.

“Come on,” he says, a little worried. “Talk to me.”

Masayoshi raises his head slowly. He stares at Goto for a long moment, and for Masayoshi’s sake, Goto is thankful for the dim light, since he’s fairly certain his friend’s face is a mess right now. In fact, the look on Masayoshi’s face is making Goto’s stomach flip uncomfortably, over and over again. Goto lets out a long breath that pours out like smoke in front of his face. God, he could use a cigarette, they both probably could – that’s what he’s thinking when he feels Masayoshi’s lips suddenly press against his cheek.

He turns toward Masayoshi in surprise, and then, just as suddenly, Masayoshi’s lips are on his mouth. It’s clumsy, and sloppy, and his extremities are so cold the whole effect is generally kind of numbed, but there’s no mistaking what’s happening when their lips part. Suddenly he feels Masayoshi’s tongue behind his teeth and oh, oh… This is a kiss, Goto thinks. And then he just closes his eyes, and plunges in.

Much in the same way as it’d taken him a few seconds to realize they’d started, it takes Goto a few seconds to figure out that they’ve stopped, too, and that Masayoshi is sitting there staring at him again. His face is even more of a mess than it’d been a minute ago – flushed and splotchy and, well, actually, still pretty damn attractive. Masayoshi’s eyes sparkle a little, making the grey stand out, bright and clear. Goto has always really liked Masayoshi’s eyes, liked their clarity and openness, especially when they’re focused on him. His stomach flips again, and this time, Goto wonders if that’s actually discomfort he’s feeling or something else entirely.

“Um,” Goto says eloquently into the entirely-too-small space between their faces.

“I really like you,” Masayoshi confesses, his eyes wide. “Goto-san, I… I really, really like you. I’ve liked you since the day we met in that alley. That’s why I’ve dragged you into all this stuff with me and I never meant to, but I just couldn’t help it. I didn’t want you to lose interest. I wanted you to keeping spending time with me.”

Masayoshi ducks his head at that, and inside Goto’s chest, some very strange, strange things are happening. He thinks maybe it’s his heart, coming detached, unhinged from the rest of him.

“But things are getting really dangerous now,” Masayoshi is saying. “Those cops, they…” He swallows, and his eyes fill with tears, and yeah, Goto thinks, his heart is definitely not in its proper place anymore.

“They died, and it could have been you,” Masayoshi says. “And I just… I could never forgive myself if, if—"

“Let’s get something straight,” Goto hears himself say, a little surprised by the strength of his voice. “First of all, I like you too. A lot.”

The words hang there for a second in the air. Goto is sure that should have been harder to say, is sure he should be qualifying those words with a hundred more, but instead he finds himself plunging onward.

“And second of all, all the times I’ve put myself out there for you it’s been because I wanted to. Not because you dragged me into it, or… Well, maybe it was little because I just wanted to be around you so badly I’d do anything, but…” Goto thinks he should probably shut up, but he can’t; his mind is racing. “My point is that it’s my choice. To stand up there with you, to put myself in danger. To freeze to death with you in this stupid cabin.” He smiles, feeling a little giddy. “It’s my choice. I understand what you’re saying, and why you’re upset, but you shouldn’t be. Because I want to be here. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Okay?”

He hadn’t been watching Masayoshi’s reaction to any of this, maybe because he knew if he did he’d never be able to keep going, but he sneaks a look at Masayoshi’s face now, and realizes that his friend is… Well, he’s doing a very strange thing that Goto’s never seen before – he honestly can’t tell if Masayoshi is laughing, or crying.

Goto’s heart – which still feels quite unhinged, and unsteady, thanks – swells a little in his chest as he tightens his arm around Masayoshi’s shoulders. Their knees press together under the sleeping bag. He can feel the wool of Masayoshi’s hat against his cheek, and for a few long moments they sit there like that, their heads resting together, as Masayoshi’s sniffles turn to steady breaths in and out. Eventually Goto relaxes his grip on Masayoshi’s shoulder, just a little.

“We’re not really going to freeze to death up here, are we?” Masayoshi says eventually, his voice quiet, and close.

“Nah,” Goto says. “I think we’ll make it.”

“Good,” Masayoshi says, and his teeth are chattering a little. “That’s good.”

“You feeling okay?” Goto asks. “I really don’t know that much about survival skills in the cold, but I think frostbite should still be a ways off… It should be morning soon anyway.”

“Masayoshi?” Goto asks, when he doesn’t answer.

Masayoshi turns to face him, as easily as he can anyway, while still keeping all the necessary points of contact so that the sleeping bag doesn’t come undone.

“I feel great,” Masayoshi says, and he’s grinning. “Perfect, really.”

“Well forgive me if I don’t just take your word for it. You forget you were sobbing into your knees not ten minutes ago. How do I know you’re not just delirious from the cold?”

Masayoshi looks suddenly stricken. “Goto, are you…”

“Delirious?”

Masayoshi nods nervously.

“Yes,” Goto says quickly. “A little delirious, yes, but… Only partly from the cold.” He grins, and Masayoshi’s face flushes pink.

“So...”

“So?”

“So we’re okay?”

“We’re okay,” Goto says, and he squeezes Masayoshi’s arm through his million layers of clothing for emphasis.

“This is really happening? I’m not dreaming this?”

Goto laughs. “I’m pretty sure it’s happening. Either that, or you’ve got some pretty powerful dreams.”

Masayoshi turns a little, and stares into Goto’s face, which is a bit of a challenge given the close proximity.

“What about your girlfriend?” he says, chin quivering a little, though that could just be the cold.

“She hasn’t really been my girlfriend for a while now,” Goto says matter-of-factly.

“Really?”

“Really,” Goto says, and because he realizes that he can, he leans in and presses his lips to Masayoshi’s.

He hadn’t really had the chance to notice it before, but Masayoshi’s mouth tastes a little sweet, and also a little minty, like peppermint candies. He closes his eyes, and allows the cabin and the cold and everything else to fade away for a while. He allows himself to focus on this – really focus on it, on how it feels to press his lips against Masayoshi’s, how it feels to experience how Masayoshi tastes, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He hadn’t realized just how badly he’d wanted this, but it’s as if a giant weight has been lifted from his shoulders. His heart feels like it could float away at any second, like a balloon bouncing around in his chest. He’s never really been one to lose himself in something like this – but if Goto is anything right now, he’s lost, in the best way imaginable.

When he opens his eyes again, he realizes that he’s staring up at the ceiling, and that Masayoshi’s legs are tangled up around him. The rest of him isn’t too far off either - Masayoshi’s head is pressed against his chest, and they’re both letting out quick huffs of breath into the space in front of them.

He knows they shouldn’t let themselves fall asleep, but he closes his eyes anyway. It’s sort of like everything with Masayoshi – he knows he shouldn’t be encouraging him with this whole superhero thing, knows the dangers involved in what they’re doing, knows all of the alarms are going off for a reason, but in the end, he just wants to be here next to him. Nothing else has ever really mattered.

“You said we weren’t supposed to sleep,” Masayoshi says eventually, after what feels like a long time. He says the words into the fabric of Goto’s jacket, and his voice is muffled and a little groggy.

“I know,” Goto says. “We probably shouldn’t.”

“Is that snow?”

“What?”

“Outside, up on the roof…”

And Goto realizes that from their vantage point on the floor, he can actually see out the tiny window – the clouds have cleared, and it must be a full moon tonight, because there are giant fluffy flakes falling outside the window, and they’re illuminated by a soft glow.

The lantern is still going too, and with the dark wood of the cabin walls around them, and the glow from the window, it’s almost cozy in here. Or it would be, if it wasn’t completely freezing.

“It’s beautiful,” Masayoshi says, and he tightens their tangled limbs together, pulling himself close to Goto. “Thank you,” Masayoshi murmurs. His lips are nestled up somewhere around Goto’s earlobe.

“For what?”

“For coming out here with me tonight…” Masayoshi says, and then he whispers against Goto’s ear. “For everything. For not arresting me the day we met. For listening to me.”

“Well, you’re welcome, but I don’t really feel like I had a choice.” Goto rolls over, ignoring the protests from pretty much all of the bones in his body as they make contact with the hard floor. “You’re pretty irresistible, you know.”

“Thanks,” Masayoshi says softly. Then he places a light kiss on Goto’s neck. “I tried my best.”

Goto laughs for a few seconds at that, until he hears Masayoshi let out a giggle against his chest, too.

“What, it’s the truth.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Goto says, and he doesn’t, not at all. He’s fairly certain Masayoshi strives to be the best at everything he does, whether he’s obvious about it or not. His ability to be so straightforward, to work so hard for what’s important to him… It’s one of the things Goto likes so much about him.

“Goto…” Masayoshi says softly, a hint of a question in his voice.

“Hmm?”

“We’ll be okay, right?”

“Of course we will be. It’s practically morning already.”

“I don’t just mean tonight.”

“Come here,” Goto says, reaching his hand out for whatever skin he can find under his fingers - Masayoshi’s cheek, his neck, his forehead. It’s tricky under all these layers, but he manages as best he can. “You know, all that confidence you have when you put on that suit – I’ve always wondered where it comes from. Because honestly, you worry more than anyone I know.”

“It’s different when I put on the suit…”

“I know,” Goto says, and his fingers trace a line down Masayoshi’s cheek to his chin. “You should trust yourself more.”

Masayoshi is quiet, but he buries his face against Goto’s neck, which honestly, is something Goto finds he’s getting pretty used to. Masayoshi fits here, really well, Goto realizes, like the last piece of a puzzle finally slotting into place.

“We’ll be fine,” Goto says against Masayoshi’s head, breathing in fibers of wool from his hat, and wishing it were Masayoshi’s hair instead. Masayoshi’s pom-pom flops over onto his nose thoughtlessly, without a care in the world, and Goto just closes his eyes and lets it rest there. “Especially now.”

end

[Fic] a map with your name for a capital

2013-12-15T02:44:20Z

Title: a map with your name for a capital
Fandom: Samurai Flamenco
Pairing: Hazama Masayoshi/Goto Hidenori
Warnings/Spoilers: no warnings; spoilers through episode 6
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~3,400

Summary: Goto's feelings are complicated. (Coda to episode 6)

Notes: So I started this just after episode 6 aired, because I really wanted to write a get-together fic for them, and it seemed like exactly the right time for it. And then I went on vacation for a few weeks, and in that time, of course, a million things have happened in the series! But I hope that the timing of this still works. ^_~

Masayoshi may be steady enough on his feet by now, but Goto isn’t taking any chances - he’s got his arm wrapped around his friend’s waist and doesn’t plan on letting go anytime soon.

Mari and the girls have gone on their way, and while Goto is grateful that the drama of the situation has died down, he also knows that this sense of calm might not last long. They need to leave.

His eyes scan the area around them warily.

“Where did you leave your clothes?”

Masayoshi sighs. “In one of the lockers at the station, maybe ten minutes from here…”

Goto’s not sure he wants to wait that long before getting them out of here. The center of the city feels unnecessarily bright and sprawling and dangerous, even to someone as used to it as he is.

He should probably be taking Masayoshi to the hospital, even though his friend has assured him several times that he’s just a little banged up, but that he’ll be fine.

Sometimes Goto wonders if he should have insisted that his friend stop all of this months ago. He could have demanded it the night they met, could have arrested him. That would have at least slowed down the progress of this whole Flamenco thing, right?

Then again, probably not. If Goto has learned anything since he’s met Masayoshi, it’s that his friend is incredibly stubborn.

Goto sighs. Masayoshi is rubbing his neck, twisting his head from side to side, stretching things out.

“Never mind about the clothes,” Goto says. “You can pick them up later – for now we should get you home.”

He raises his arm to hail a taxi, not waiting for a response.

Goto maneuvers his friend inside the first car that stops, despite his protests that they can just take the train after they’ve retrieved his clothes, and his even louder protests that he can’t possibly be seen entering his apartment building in his current outfit.

In the taxi, Goto gestures at Masayoshi’s helmet.

“Off,” he instructs, and Masayoshi looks at him like he’s the crazy one.

“Come on, I know you said you didn’t hit your head, but I want to make sure. And I’ll lend you my sweatshirt if you’re that worried, okay?”

“Goto-san…”

“Come on. I promise you, the taxi driver isn’t going to sell out your identity.”

It’s too dark for him to see anything anyway, Goto thinks. He’s immediately annoyed at himself for even worrying about this. Honestly, having to conceal a superhero’s identity is a lot harder than it looks.

The dark side streets blur past, and the city lights flicker over the taxi’s interior. Masayoshi first takes off his mask, then his helmet. He folds the mask carefully and places it on his lap, then looks over at Goto.

His face is a little flushed, probably from the mask and heavy helmet, but he doesn’t have any visible bruises. It’s a good start.

“I really don’t think I hit my head,” Masayoshi says, again.

“Well, well, but come here anyway.”

“My hair’s all sweaty,” Masayoshi says, frowning, but Goto is already pressing his fingers against his friend’s scalp, gross sweaty head of hair or not.

“It’s embarrassing,” Goto hears his friend say, so quiet it’s almost inaudible, as he moves his hands over Masayoshi’s head, searching for bumps or tender spots, anything out of the ordinary.

His friend’s hair is damp, but it’s not that bad – mostly just warm, and much messier than usual.

Truth be told though, Masayoshi is right. It is embarrassing. All of this feels strangely intimate in the small space, and there’s an uncomfortable knot in Goto’s stomach too. When the tips of his fingers graze the base of his friend’s neck, and soft, warm skin replaces messy helmet-head hair, the skin on Goto’s neck prickles a little, and the hairs on his arms stand on end.

It’s complicated, he tells himself for what feels like the hundredth time – this strange sense of closeness he’s felt towards Masayoshi since pretty much the day they met. Goto hasn’t ever really been able to explain it. It’s just something that’s there, something that he knows guides his actions, and makes him feel responsible for things like what happened tonight when he knows that he shouldn’t, that this is Masayoshi’s fault, and no one else’s. It’s like Masayoshi is his long lost little brother, or a childhood friend he hasn’t seen in years. Sometimes it feels like Masayoshi is something else entirely, something Goto’s not sure he’ll ever be able to put a name to.

The obvious thing would be to wonder if this is all Mari’s fault – saying weird things and flinging accusations all over the place. But the truth is, anything that Mari may have insinuated tonight really doesn’t change anything. Goto’s been putting Masayoshi first, before everything else in his life, for a while now, and he has absolutely no explanation for it, except that he knows he can’t stop, that when it comes down to it, he doesn’t want to, not for a second.

Masayoshi winces a little when Goto’s hand drops to his shoulder, and Goto’s stomach turns over uncertainly.

He’s done checking for some hidden head injury now, and is fairly convinced his friend isn’t concussed, but his hand lingers for a moment anyway, just above the collar of Masayoshi’s suit. He can feel the heat from Masayoshi’s skin against his fingers, his palm.

He really wishes he’d been able to get there sooner tonight.

“You need to be more careful next time,” Goto says quietly.

He closes his eyes for a moment before he breaks the contact, and announces to Masayoshi that he seems fine – no bumps, no concussion.

Then Goto wrestles his arms out of his hoodie. They’re getting close to Masayoshi’s place, and god forbid they don’t do everything in their power to conceal the identity of his friend’s alter ego. Goto takes the helmet and mask from Masayoshi’s lap, and helps his friend wriggle into the sweatshirt, which, as it turns out, is big enough on him that it hides most of his costume when he tightens the string around his neck and pulls the hood over his head. Goto can’t help but notice a couple of grimaces and winces from Masayoshi as he settles into his costume change.

“Thanks,” Masayoshi says, smiling a little from under the hood. “How do I look?”

“Like you need a bath and a good night’s sleep,” Goto says. “Also like you’ve raided someone else’s far less fashionable closet,” he adds, and Masayoshi just laughs.

They’re quiet the rest of the short distance, and Goto stares out the window, counting the buildings and trees idly as they pass outside the taxi.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” Goto says eventually. It shouldn’t be a hard thing to say – it’s the truth, after all - but he has to concentrate on getting the words out, he’s gritting his teeth so hard. “Next time, it’ll be quicker. I’ve figured out the GPS tracking now, so…”

Masayoshi stares at him for a long moment, from inside Goto’s hoodie, looking surprised. His eyes are wide and bright, even in the darkness.

“I’m just glad you made it when you did,” Masayoshi says, and then lowers his head. “Sorry if I made you worry.”

Goto just nods and tries not to think about whether or not Masayoshi really understands what could have happened if he’d gotten there two minutes later tonight. Or ten.

**

Back at Masayoshi’s apartment, Goto sinks down onto the couch, and takes a deep breath. He’d paid the taxi fare, since Masayoshi’d had the bright idea to leave his wallet at the station with his change of clothes, and as he relaxes into the couch, he realizes that he’s suddenly exhausted.

He hadn’t noticed it at the time, but the adrenaline rush that flooded his body when he’d come in guns blazing to save the day had been pretty draining. He’d faced worse before, on the job, but tonight had still shaken him up a bit.

It’d taken forever to figure out how to track Masayoshi’s GPS, and he honestly hadn’t been sure of what he would find when he finally got there. As it stands, Masayoshi came dangerously close to getting hurt tonight. And no matter how many times Goto tells himself that he did all he could, that he got there as fast as possible, given the circumstances - something about that realization lingers, even when he knows they’ve made it safely back, that there’s no real danger anymore.

Goto can hear Masayoshi puttering around in his bedroom while he fills up the bath. It’s oddly comforting in the stillness of the spacious apartment.

Goto is aware of the fact that something has changed tonight. Something that started out there in the middle of the city when he arrived on the scene, when he realized that his strength, his ability to protect what was important to him would be the deciding factor in the outcome of tonight. He’d made a decision out there, and it’d come in a split second – so quickly that there really had been no decision at all, just instinct.

He’s really not sure why he gets up from the couch. He knows it’s none of his business what his friend does – if he’s covered in bruises at the end of a night of “crime” fighting, if something worse happens someday. He knows Masayoshi is not actually his responsibility, that he’s just as much of an adult as Goto is, even if it doesn’t always feel that way. In any case, he’s going to make his own decisions, and Goto really can’t stop him.

He can’t seem to let go of what happened tonight though. It feels significant, though he honestly has no idea why.

“Hey,” he says, opening the door a little wider into the bedroom. “I should—" go, is what he’d been planning on saying, or at least it’s what he should have planned on saying, but instead he finds himself staring at the figure in front of him, a bit frozen to the spot.

Masayoshi’s costume is pooled on the floor next to his feet, along with Goto’s sweatshirt, and his friend is standing there in front of the mirror, in nothing but a pair of thin pajama pants. There are a couple of dark red marks across his chest and his back, Goto notices as Masayoshi turns in front of the mirror. He’s sure those will make for some lovely bruises tomorrow.

“Not so bad,” Masayoshi says, studying his reflection. “Right? Just a couple of bruises.”

“Yeah,” Goto says, his mouth suddenly dry. One of the marks along Masayoshi’s ribs is already starting to turn a deep purple. “I think you’ll live.”

Masayoshi begins to cross the room towards him, and there’s a tiny shiver in the air, barely perceptible, a light tremor under Goto’s feet. Then Goto realizes that it’s not the air, it’s him, it’s his heart suddenly pounding in his chest like it wants to leap out of his throat.

Masayoshi winces a little when he takes a step, and that’s when Goto feels it in his chest - a pull so strong he’s sure Masayoshi must be able to feel it too.

Masayoshi stops suddenly, and Goto realizes that it’s because he’s grabbed his friend’s elbow and is holding him in place. Masayoshi opens his mouth, probably to ask him what the hell he’s doing, but Goto has already pulled his friend close, has already stopped whatever words Masayoshi had been ready to question him with, right there in his throat. Goto knows the feeling, because his words are tucked up somewhere between his chest and his lips too. He can feel them rattling around inside of him, like chips of ice against a giant glass.

It’s not quite a hug, but it’s the closest Goto has ever been to Hazama Masayoshi, at least for such a prolonged amount of time. He smells like outside, like the city, like sweat and wind and the plastic-vinyl of his discarded suit.

Goto’s back is up against the bedroom door, and his face is pressed against the side of Masayoshi’s neck. He can feel his friend’s breath against his ear. He’s really not sure what he’s doing, just that he’d felt the fierce need to do it in that moment. It had felt necessary - it still does - to wrap his arms around his friend like this. Masayoshi isn’t small – but right now he feels compact, contained, safe.

It’s silly, but there’s a single thought that has taken hold of Goto’s mind. Like it’s been waiting there somewhere in the depths, wherever Goto had filed it away, and now that it’s out in the open it’s not going anywhere – it’s putting down roots.

He can feel Masayoshi’s pulse thumping along under the skin of his neck, and for a second, Goto’s lips brush against his friend’s skin. Masayoshi’s neck is warm and soft. It contrasts the sharp angles of the rest of his body.

Goto doesn’t want to let go. Because this, caring for Masayoshi, being able to hold him while he’s hurting… Goto isn’t sure he’s ever wanted anything more intensely. He can’t get that thought out of his head.

He knows he has to let go, but the more he thinks about it, the more embarrassed he is, and the more red the redder he can feel his face becoming. Finally, he just plants his feet firmly, grips Masayoshi by the shoulders, and pushes himself off. Masayoshi stares at him for a long, long moment.

“Sorry,” Goto says, because he can’t think of what else to say, or how to explain himself. “I was really worried before, I guess I just—" needed to reassure myself that you were really okay, his brain continues to supply, even after the look on his friend’s face has stopped him from finishing that thought aloud.

Goto has no idea what the look on Masayoshi’s face means right now – it’s part determination, part something else entirely, and then before he realizes what’s happening, Masayoshi’s face is so close that he can feel his friend’s breath tickling his nose.

There’s a strange, surreal moment where he feels Masayoshi’s hands on his neck and chin, steadying him, but his friend’s hands seem to be moving impossibly slowly. And then Masayoshi’s lips are pressed against his.

They’re dryer than he thought they would be. But firm, too. Purposeful.

Yeah, Goto realizes, he’s thought about this.

He wraps his arms around Masayoshi’s back, against the bare skin there, and feels his friend shiver a little. Goto makes a tiny, embarrassing noise in the back of his throat. In response, Masayoshi’s lips part, and Goto finds himself rendered completely unable to process anything other than how this feels.

They’re a little tentative at first, but they only bump noses twice before they figure out the right angle, and the rhythm they find after that doesn’t take long at all. Goto is a little surprised by how… Well, by how good it is. How natural it feels to thread his fingers through Masayoshi’s hair, right at the base of his friend’s neck, and make him gasp against his lips. How easy it is for a tiny flick of Masayoshi’s tongue to cause little pinprick bursts of fire along his skin, from his lips all the way down to his toes, like fireworks going off along his nerve endings.

Goto isn’t used to this at all. He’s used to slightly awkward first kisses that end before they’ve really started, to the steady navigation of a second kiss, and then more, but this is something different. It’s exhilarating, and a little terrifying.

Masayoshi’s arms wrap around his lower back, as he tugs their hips together. Goto hums a little in the back of his throat, and pulls them closer on instinct, as Masayoshi deepens the kiss. It feels a bit like plunging underwater, everything deep and dark and swirling all around him.

It feels like they’ve been doing this forever, too, like they’re not going to stop. As if this is the only thing left in the world that makes any kind of sense, even though Goto knows there’s nothing at all that makes sense about this happening right now.

And eventually, of course, they do stop.

Goto’s brain slowly comes back online, and as it does, there are at least a half a dozen alarm bells going off in his head about what a bad, bad idea this is, which he supposes is a sign that he hasn’t completely lost his mind, at least. The alarms are only natural, Goto tells himself, and they run the gamut - Masayoshi is his friend, his male friend, and besides that, he’s totally insane - this is insane - he has a girlfriend, after all, etcetera.

And then Goto looks up at Masayoshi, and realizes that his friend is smiling. Really smiling, like Goto has never seen him smile before, his charm turned up to about a thousand watts. It’s the biggest, stupidest grin that he’s ever seen on his friend’s face, and it completely tugs at something inside Goto. It makes his heart race, just watching him.

He has to say something, and somehow when he opens his mouth, “I should go,” is what comes out, stupidly. Because that’s pretty much the exact opposite of everything he’s thinking.

He’s relieved when Masayoshi shakes his head.

“Stay,” he says, and it’s not a question, not really. When he says it again, a little more forcefully, Goto nods.

Masayoshi smiles again, and before he knows it, Goto is smiling back.

Just like that, the alarms have been silenced. All but one, anyway, and it’s the one that’s telling him that they really, really need to do this again, preferably as soon as possible.

“Hey,” Goto says, and his voice is too loud – he’s suddenly aware that there isn’t nearly as much distance between them as there usually is. He swallows. “There’s one condition.”

“What?”

“I’ll stay, but… There’s a condition,” he says again, studying Masayoshi’s face. “If you have to keep doing this Flamenco stuff, and I know that you do – I want you to let me help you.” He lowers his voice. “I want you to let me take care of you.”

Masayoshi takes a step closer. He places his hands on Goto’s hips, a little tentatively.

“Yes,” he says seriously, and the skin on Goto’s face and neck prickles with heat. “Please. You know I’m always happy when you’re here to help me.”

Goto has to look away from Masayoshi’s eyes, which feel a bit like they’re looking straight through him at the moment.

Masayoshi smiles. “So do I get a condition too?”

“It doesn’t work that—" he starts, but stops when Masayoshi’s fingers press against his lips.

“Kiss me,” Masayoshi says. His voice is steady, but his eyes are tentative, questioning. “Please?”

Goto feels his face warm a little. He’s not embarrassed, but he can feel something moving inside of him, something powerful and uncontrollable that he hasn’t felt in a really long time.

“Is that all?” Goto says finally, enjoying the tiny noise of surprise that Masayoshi breathes against their lips when he presses them together. “I think I can handle that,” he whispers before he deepens the kiss.

He’s not sure if the low appreciative moan that comes after belongs to him, or to Masayoshi, or to both of them. He’s not sure that it matters.

Their second kiss is longer, slower, a measured mapping out of points of contact, of boundaries. It’s directionless at times, but laser-focused, too - point A to point B to point C and then some.

“I lied,” Masayoshi says a few moments later. “It wasn’t really a condition. Just something I really, really wanted.”

The words cling there against Goto’s skin, warm and a little moist from Masayoshi’s lips.

“But I probably would have let you stay anyway. I’ve wanted it for a while, after all, so I’d gotten pretty good at waiting.”

A few beats pass, and Goto is suddenly very aware of the thin line of space between their bodies.

“Yeah, I know,” Goto says, and he tugs Masayoshi’s body against his, feeling the gaps between them melt away like they never existed in the first place. “Mine wasn’t really a condition either.”

**

Here is a map with your name for a capital,
here is an arrow to prove a point: we laugh
and it pits the world against us, we laugh,
and we’ve got nothing left to lose, and our hearts
turn red, and the river rises like a barn on fire.

- Richard Siken, Saying Your Names

***

[Fic] Sidekick

2013-11-04T01:23:19Z

Title: Sidekick
Fandom: Samurai Flamenco
Characters/Pairing: Hazama Masayoshi/Goto Hidenori
Warnings/Spoilers: no warnings; spoilers through episode 3
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,271

Summary: Goto has never met anyone like Masayoshi before. It’s starting to show. Pre-slash.

Notes: This takes place roughly between episodes 3 and 4. (Yeah, it feels pretty strange to be writing fic for a series that only has 4 episodes out, lol.) I really love this series so far though - these guys are adorable, and I can’t wait to see where it all goes. :D

P.S. Flist, if you're not watching this yet - GO DO THAT RIGHT NOW. And then come back and fangirl with me~ ♥

“Sometimes I think I should have arrested you after all....”

Goto stares at Masayoshi across the table. He raises his glass of beer, but his eyes settle on the collar of his friend’s polo shirt for a beat or two before he blinks, and takes a long sip.

It’s late, and he should be at home. Should be asleep. Should be doing a lot of things, but lately, this seems to have taken the place of most everything else. It’s strange. Not necessarily unpleasant, but strange, nonetheless.

It’s unlike Goto to make friends so easily. To just fall into someone’s life like this. To sit down one day and realize that he’s barely seen the inside of his apartment in days, that he’s eaten homemade curry for dinner a half a dozen times in the past two weeks.

The landscape of his life has changed fairly drastically since he’s met Masayoshi, and sometimes it feels important, like his life has somehow been leading him up to this point, that alley.

Sometimes he thinks he’s been watching too many old superhero shows, where nothing happens without a reason, without a nod to fate, or destiny - the hero’s true calling. Sometimes he thinks he’s had one too many beers.

Lots of times he thinks he’s just an idiot. He’s made a friend, that’s all. Happens all the time.

He sighs.

Masayoshi is frowning at him, just barely. Just enough to make his brows furrow a bit, and his face look even younger and more earnest than usual.

“I’m serious, you know,” Goto says, lowering his eyes at his friend. “As a cop, I really should have arrested you by now.”

“That’s not fair, Goto-san, I haven’t even--"

“I’m not saying it’s because you’ve done anything wrong.”

Goto sighs, downs the rest of his beer. He feels warm and comfortable, sitting here with Masayoshi. Not unpleasant at all. But there’s a tiny something niggling at the corner of his mind.

“Then why?” Masayoshi asks. His eyes are clear, filled with expectation.

Goto is used to this look. It’s the look people give him when they sit down at the station to file a report. After he’s handed them a cup of coffee or tea from the vending machine, as the steam drifts up from the cup and warms their hands. It’s trust. The kind of complete trust that you don’t see displayed all that often in the real world, the world outside the station. They trust that Goto will be able to fix their problems, to help them when they don’t have anywhere else to turn. He figures that’s why he went into law enforcement in the first place. Because he wanted to be the person people came to for help. For protection.

Masayoshi looks up at him. “Goto-san?”

“I’m just saying that I can’t always be around to help you out, you know? You should be more careful.”

Masayoshi offers a slight smile.

“I’m always careful,” he says, but there’s a twinkle in his eye that Goto knows means that he’s only going to be careful to a point. Once that arrow- straight justice of his gets involved, Goto knows that careful will be the last thing on Masayoshi’s mind.

The strangest thing is that sometimes Goto thinks he’s okay with that.

**

“I’ve never met anyone like him,” Goto reflects, leaning over his balcony. He takes a long drag of his cigarette, and watches the smoke hover in front of him for a moment and then drift off into the darkness.

He feels more than a little guilty that he’s spending his twice weekly phone call with his girlfriend discussing the merits and shortcomings of his new friend. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to mind.

On the other end of the line, his girlfriend – Fumiko -- laughs.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, it’s cute, that’s all. I’m glad you’ve made such a good friend. And if you’re worried about him, you should just tell him, Go. You’re his sempai, I’m sure he’ll listen to you.”

Now it’s Goto’s turn to laugh, as he presses the stub of his cigarette into the ashcan next to the railing, and steps back inside.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that. The thing is - he’s completely convinced that he’s doing the right thing. I’ve never seen anyone believe in anything the way this guy does.”

“I guess you’re just going to have to become his sidekick, then,” she says, and Goto can practically see the smile on her face. “That way you’ll always be there to look out for him.”

“Hey now, that’s not funny.”

But they’re both laughing; the sound of it fills up Goto’s empty apartment, and warms his chest and his cheeks with something pleasant and fond and familiar.

**

The café bustles around them, and Masayoshi leans forward across the table, up on his elbows, almost spilling his cappuccino in the process. He stares up into Goto’s face, so close that Goto can smell his shampoo, citrusy fresh and a little sweet.

“She still suspects something, I’m sure of it.”

His whisper is louder than the normal voices of most of the people around them. Goto sighs and puts his hands on Masayoshi’s shoulders, maneuvering him back into his seat, as the girls at the table next to them stare for a moment, and then look away nervously. He wonders if they recognize Masayoshi, from the TV special, maybe.

Ever since the fake Samurai Flamenco incident, Masayoshi has been even more afraid than ever of bringing about his manager’s wrath.

“Of course she’s concerned about you,” Goto says calmly. “She’s your manager – that’s her job.” He drops his eyes to a pointed stare. “And it’s not exactly like you’ve been discreet, lately.”

Masayoshi sighs, and stares down at his hands. Then he looks up at Goto.

“What should I do?”

This is the exact moment that Goto has probably been waiting for. The exact time that his advice, coming from an older and wiser sempai, will finally get through to Masayoshi. He should be doing everything in his power to get his friend to give up Flamenco once and for all and instead…

Instead Masayoshi is staring up at him, his eyes wide and helpless and worried, and Goto can’t bring himself to say a damn thing.

“Come on,” is what he finally settles on. “Let’s get out of here – you can finish that on the way home.”

**

Masayoshi sits on the floor next to Goto’s feet, hugging a couch pillow to his chest. He looks miserable.

“Look,” Goto says. “I’m not going to try to talk you out of this whole hero thing anymore. We just have to find a way for you to be more careful. Smarter about where you go, that kind of thing. It’ll work out.”

“I don’t know,” Masayoshi says. Then he moans, slumping over onto the floor. “Maybe I should have settled for curry udon after all!”

“No,” Goto shakes his head, surprised at his sudden determination. “This is who you are, right? It’s important. It’s dangerous and maybe a little crazy, but… It’s important to you, which means it’s important to me too. We’ll figure out something, okay?”

Goto cringes a little inwardly at his rambling, but when he glances down at Masayoshi, somehow the kid’s got tears in his eyes, and Goto can’t decide if he wants to smack him, or lock him into a bear hug.

Sometimes Masayoshi reminds him of the kid brother he never had. Someone to sit on the couch with at home while his parents were busy at work and watch tokusatsu shows and anime with – would have been nice, at the time. Not that he’d ever fantasized about having a kid brother who was also a secret superhero, though. That was definitely all Masayoshi.

He settles for a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Come on, since when does a hero sit around feeling sorry for himself?”

Masayoshi seems to consider this, nodding seriously. “That’s true…”

“It’ll be fine – you’ll lay low for a while, and I’m sure Ishihara-san will drop all the Flamenco stuff. Eventually.”

Masayoshi nods again. “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He fluffs the pillow, and sits down next to Goto on the couch. Then Masayoshi flashes him a sheepish smile.

“Your girlfriend must be jealous – you’re spending so much time worrying about me. I should apologize to her.”

Goto waves his hand dismissively. “Nah, I told you – it’s long distance. I told her about you though.”

“Yeah?”

“She thinks I should become your sidekick.”

Masayoshi’s eyes widen. He grins. “Goto-san that’s a great—"

“Don’t even think about it!”

“But I’m sure I could find you a great costume! I’ve got a bunch of prototypes, one of them is bound to--"

“A joke, idiot. It was a joke.”

“Hai, hai,” Masayoshi says, but he’s smiling, grinning, like he knows something Goto doesn’t.

Then he grabs the remote for the video screen.

“Let me guess,” Goto says, eyes on the screen as it lowers into place. “Red Axe, season five finale?”

Masayoshi nods enthusiastically. “The second part, the one where they try to bury him alive but he--”

Goto’s half-listens as Masayoshi gestures at the screen, and probably spoils half the plot before he settles back onto the couch. By the time the opening comes on, Masayoshi is smiling, that bright spark back in his eyes, as he watches his childhood hero battle it out in HD. He’s back to his old self. Goto is surprised by how relieved he feels.

When he shifts into a more comfortable position on the couch, his shoulder presses against Masayoshi’s. Neither of them move, and Goto has a sudden urge to wrap his arm around his friend’s shoulder. To pull him close, and to keep him there. It’s not the first time he’s felt something like this when he’s with Masayoshi. The pull is so strong sometimes it almost feels like muscle memory.

He closes his eyes for a moment and then Masayoshi laughs, gesturing at the screen, where Red Axe has just outwitted his opponent. It’s been a long time since he’s felt a laugh like this, so close it might as well be rattling around in his own chest, bumping up against his ribcage.

On the screen, Red Axe doesn’t realize he’s about to be double crossed. Masayoshi leans forward in anticipation and the absence of contact feels strange, wrong somehow. He leans back a few moments later, and Goto finds himself gravitating towards the contact, not wanting to break the connection.

Then again, he supposes that’s what he’s been doing for a while now.

**

When Goto blinks awake hours later it’s to a heavy weight on his chest, and a soft, though not exactly welcome mouthful of Masayoshi’s hair.

He glances up at the screen - it’s long since gone dark. The apartment is quiet except for Masayoshi’s light breathing. His arm is curled around Goto’s stomach, and Goto’s arm is draped over his friend’s shoulder. Their legs stretch out side by side along the couch, and all of it feels ridiculously awkward and absolutely natural at the same time.

Goto thinks for a moment about how this must look, and then realizes that it doesn’t look like anything, because there’s no one here but them.

It’s late, and he should be at home, but instead he’s lying here on this couch, in the middle of Masayoshi’s giant apartment, which honestly feels just as familiar as his place ever did anyway.

Then he thinks about the look on Masayoshi’s face when he’s watching his heroes on TV, that infectious enthusiasm. Maybe his sense of justice isn’t naïve so much as just misguided, misplaced. He’s already lost that argument more than once though – the one where he encourages Masayoshi to stay back on the sidelines, let the police deal with criminals, and if that’s not good enough, join the force himself. But he knows there’s no way that’s happening.

Goto has never met anyone more stubborn than Masayoshi. Or more determined to do things his own way. It might be inspiring if it wasn’t so completely insane. If he wasn’t dealing with someone who’d stopped using umbrellas for the rest of their life because of a six year old kid’s cold.

He thinks of Fumiko’s umbrella. Of watching Masayoshi race off on his bike at full speed in the rain; he’d ended up soaked to the bone, water dripping off the tips of his hair and all over the inside of the taxi.

Idiot, Goto thinks. He’s the biggest idiot I’ve ever met.

He lifts his arm, just far enough so that he can reach the blanket draped over the back of the couch. He pulls it down over Masayoshi’s shoulder, and drapes it over their legs. His friend shifts with the contact and presses his cheek against Goto’s chest, just below his collar bone. He lets out a long breath, and his fingers twitch against Goto’s stomach.

He should have tried harder when he had it in him, maybe, to convince Masayoshi to give this whole hero thing up. But instead, he’s here. Again. When it comes down to it, Goto figures he’s nothing more than an enabler - big time.

He sighs, and his hand tightens around Masayoshi’s arm for a moment. The tips of his fingers brush against soft, smooth skin. The blanket is soft too; it traps their warmth underneath it, saving it up for a particularly cold night in the future, maybe.

Sidekick, huh…

It’s a ridiculous idea, but it sure has a nice ring to it.

end

Ugh, hotels :/

2013-10-16T15:45:49Z

Today is not a good day for me and hotels.

Tried to book the ryokan that I really really LOVE in Tokyo for when we'll be there in November and it's booked for all but one of the nights. *sigh*

Then tried to participate in the whole Dragoncon 2014 Passkey nightmare, and was unsuccessful. Largely because I did the same damn thing I did last year, which is... Remember at 11am EDT that the site went live at 10AM EDT, which obviously isn't quite good enough. And then I heard that it actually went live an hour earlier than that anyway? So who the hell even knows.

Bottom line is that I am failing a lot today. :P

UGH. :/

Thursday...

2013-10-10T15:53:03Z

Days that start with me waiting for the bus for 20 minutes are not my favorite days. =_=

So yeah, that was fun. :P I hate having to depend on a bus system that sometimes had buses that come every 5 minutes, and sometimes has buses that come every 25 minutes, you know? It makes it sort of difficult to plan when you'll arrive somewhere. ARGH.

Anyway, so last night I saw Beautiful, the Carole King musical, which is getting it's pre-Broadway premiere here in SF, and is opening on Broadway in January. Not being a huge fan of her music, this wasn't a show that I was particularly curious about, until I started reading the reviews of it, which were all pretty much along the lines of "mesmerizing/utterly captivating/the most inspirational show you'll ever see/etc." ;) And I have to say - this show was AMAZING. And I now understand all these glowing reviews. ;) Anyone who has the opportunity to go see it, absolutely should. Whether you like Carole King, and whether 60's/70's singer-songwriters are your thing, or not. ;) It was just so, so well done. And made me love songs that I always thought I hated? (Like Natural Woman? Unexpectedly AMAZING in this show. *_*) Anyway, this is the best musical I've seen in a long time~ It was 2 and a half hours, and felt like about 5 minutes, it was that entertaining and enjoyable. So, yes. :D Go see it if you can!

And now... I will get to work, I suppose, since I'm feeling a little guilty about getting here so late. @_@

(But jkshadjklshksh I'm going to Japan in a month, and that is really soon. XDDD I...should look at some Japanese, and see if I remember anything at all. XD;;;)

[Fic] Afterimage

2013-10-09T20:56:02Z

Title: Afterimage
Fandom: Free! - Iwatobi Swim Club
Character(s): Rin (mentions Haru)
Warnings/Spoilers: no warnings; spoilers through episode 4
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,317
Beta: kaitou_marron

Summary: With Haru in the lane next to Rin, suddenly everything feels different, more alive.

Notes: Introspective/character study fic covering the first few episodes of the anime - basically just me trying to make sense of Rin's actions after that first race with Haru. Many thanks to kaitou_marron for looking this over for me, and for the moral support! ^_^

Rin slices through the pool. His legs pump; his arms catch and pull the water, clearing a path for his body as he plunges forward.

Movement and purpose, skill and speed. These are the things that drive Rin, that propel him through the water, but with Haru in the lane next to him, suddenly everything feels different, more alive.

The water turns electric, like a switch has been flipped. There’s a spark of passion, of pure enjoyment in Haru’s eyes, but it’s more than that. Rin sees that spark in himself, reflected there.

He remembers this feeling. The water moving alongside his body, the steady rhythm of his breath, the harmony when all of it comes together.

It’s what’s been missing these past few years, Rin thinks. It has to be. And in that moment, there’s no anger, no bitterness, no history between them, just water, pure and clear.

Suddenly Rin wants this more than anything, wants to be here in the water. He hasn’t felt this way in years.

Amazing, Rin thinks. Haru is amazing.

His heart races as he soars through the water. It pulses with life; he can feel it dancing across his skin as he turns, pushes off. The momentum builds and builds.

And then it’s over.

He’s won. He’s beaten Haru for the first time in his life.

It feels like a victory at first, too, as adrenaline floods his body, jolting him up and out of the water.

It feels like the most important victory of his life, right up until he sees Haru’s face, and realizes that Haru was never really competing with him in the first place.

The moment is gone, and Rin is right back where he started. Where he’s always been.

**

It’s infuriating how calm Haru’s face had been in that moment, losing.

It’s been a week since that night, but the anger doesn’t fade, it burns inside of him, white hot and all-consuming.

Suddenly Rin is twelve years old again. It’s winter break, and he can hardly see through his tears, he’s so mad. He can’t stop them, either; they just keep coming, spilling down over his cheeks and onto his knees. He’s angry, but more than that he’s embarrassed and he’s completely heartbroken, because losing to Haru in that moment feels like the end of the world. It feels like everything he’s ever worked for has been taken from him, and worse than that, it’s been taken from him easily from someone who has nothing at all to prove to him and nothing to lose. For the first time in his life, Rin is glad that his father isn’t around to see this.

Anger has always been a funny thing for Rin, motivating him and discouraging him in equal parts.

He thinks of the rush he’d gotten the other night, racing Haru for the first time in so long, thinks of that naïve sense of excitement he could see in Haru, in himself, and his anger starts to change shape.

It turns brittle and pointed, like ice, poised there on the tip of his tongue like a dagger.
But more than anything, it’s convinced him.

Rin wants to swim. For Samezuka, for Haru, for his father, for himself, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he wants to do it.

**

With motivation comes pressure though, pressure that sits like a rock on his chest, pulling and tugging him down.

It tells him that all of his hard work means nothing without talent.

It tells him he can never have what Haru has, that wanting to swim is nice, but it’s not enough.

It tells him lots of things and then it pulls him down, deep underwater, and he thinks of his father, thinks of storms and boats and waves so big even Haru wouldn’t be able to tame them.

**

It’s three weeks later, and Rin still sees it every time he closes his eyes, every time his head plunges underwater in that pool. The bottom of the ocean is deep and dark and vast and empty. Sometimes it seems like it’s getting closer every day.

He sees the spark that had shimmered in Haru’s eyes that night at the pool, too, that infuriating, unguarded focus, laser-sharp and clear.

Haru, who obviously hasn’t been training for months, who’s never been serious about winning anything in his life, but who could probably break every record in the world if he wanted to.

Haru, who told him once that the water was alive. It was childish and ridiculous, and worst of all Rin had believed him.

Not anymore though.

Sure, he’d caught a glimpse of something in Haru’s eyes that night, in the rush of excitement that had flooded through his body, racing Haru like it was the most important thing in the world. In that moment, maybe it had been.

But all of that is underscored now by the realization that he’s been yearning after a moment in time that has long since passed. What’s missing isn’t this, isn’t Haru, or what Haru can show him in the water.

All of that is just an echo, an afterimage. Like that shimmer of light in Haru’s eyes before they dove into the water that night.

None of it matters now.

Maybe it never had.

**

Rin dreams, and in his dream, he’s at the bottom of the ocean. Haru floats above him.

“Don’t underestimate the water,” Haru says. “Don’t insult it, either.”

There’s anger in Haru’s eyes, more anger than Rin thinks he’s ever seen before, and it’s all directed at him. It sends a shiver down his spine, raises the hairs on the back of his head.

Rin gasps, and water starts to fill his lungs. Haru doesn’t say another word, but his eyes tell him that Rin is becoming his father, that the thing Rin has always wanted will be his downfall. They tell him that Rin’s father had underestimated the water, but that it’s okay - it’s an okay way to go in the end, becoming one with the ocean and the waves and the black sands that shift and churn down here in the deepest depths.

And then Haru smiles, a thin, scary smile, bubbles rising up from around his lips, and Rin starts awake, panting, his heart stuttering up against his ribs.

**

After four straight days of dreams almost identical to this, or worse, dreams that feature his father, Rin realizes what he has to do.

He has to have a rematch.

A real race with Haru. A victory at the prefectural tournament will be official, undeniable. Enough time has passed so that Haru will be in better shape by then, too. It’s this victory that matters most, Rin tells himself.

He’ll show Haru the real difference between them. He’ll show him the power of true competition. Of determination and willpower. He’ll show Haru the strength of having a real dream, a real purpose. He’ll prove to Haru that being serious counts for something.

His victory will be undeniable proof that hard work matters.

And then Rin will leave this afterimage behind once and for all. He’ll expose it for what it is – a fleeting impression of the past - and he’ll watch it disappear.

He’ll watch it sink to the bottom of the ocean and stay there, buried, once and for all.

He’ll beat Haru, and then he’ll never swim with him again. He’ll be free of that burden.

It doesn’t occur to him, what will happen if he fails. Or if he wins, and it turns out that this victory is just as meaningless as the first one had been.

Moving forward is the only thing that matters. It almost makes Rin giddy, thinking about it, makes his breath catch in his throat and his heart pound.

There’s only one way to move forward, and that’s by securing his victory.

And he can’t wait.

end

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. ^_^

Dragoncon Cosplay Pictures!

2013-09-08T21:09:31Z

I know I still need to post Otakon pictures, and I will, but I started fixing those at work, so most of them are still on the computer there, and Jeremy was nice enough to fix the Dragoncon ones already, so... Yes. Dragoncon, it is! ;)

Warning: Image heavy! :D

Two Johnny Depps!

I LOVED these guys. They were doing Eleven and Amy all weekend, and were completely in character the entire time, which always impresses me. ;) (No idea what is going on with the guy on the far right, lol. ^_~)

A Flower of Evil! *_* I'm always particularly impressed by people who cosplay something I would never imagine could even exist as a costume. ;)

This Toph was awesome. Especially her eyes!

Fifth Element!

Silver Surfer

Tinkerbell! You can't really see her wings that well here, but they were amazing. *_*

Fez!Eleven and some girl in a Tardis dress... ;)

Awesome Korra group with two Korras! ;)

It's hard to see the detail on these in this picture, but up close, these were some of the most imaginative, creative costumes we saw. If you look closely at the girl on the left, there are a ton of miniature forest spirit things from Mononoke all along her arms and in her hat/headdress thing. *_*

Cybermen! Amazing.

Liz, I was looking at her diary and wondering if it was one of yours. ;)

I especially loved this Nine. <3

Malificent from Sleeping Beauty!

No idea what this is from, but he's beautiful. (Costume's not bad either :D)

Hook and Smee.

One of a couple of really great Michonne's we saw. (Walking Dead.)

Close up of my wig and flower :D

Ten + hand!

These guys were amazing!

Another awesome Michonne + walker friend :D

I loved this Firefly group~

Loki, with a great IC pose :D

Tin Ironman :D

Sometimes she'd let the beast go and he'd wander around on his own :D

Super awesome makeup *_*

This little Weeping Angel was so cute!

Hard to see my contacts here, but... I was happy with how they turned out :D

Those wigs are amazing...

Me and Jeremy~ :D

Contact close up~

No idea what this is from, but it's impressive!

I...cannot really explain this photo. But yeah, that's steampunk Santa, lol XD

Steampunk Tetris!

Saruman~

One of the best group poses I've ever seen~

A Lichtenstein painting! Her makeup is really, really amazing *_*

Game of Thrones! That guy in the middle looks SO much like Littlefinger *_*

This DRESS. I can't even. *_*

I was so impressed by this Kyoshi. *_* He was also about 7 feet tall, which made it that much more awesome~

Moisturize me! Such a creative take on this costume.

Mass Effect

More weeping angels.

Attack on Titan :D

Lord of the Rings

From the Welcome to Night Vale meetup. Hooded figures and Dog Park signs.

Fly salesman!

Many Cecils~

Aaand me and Jeremy as Amy and Centurion!Rory :)

Whew. The end. Panel pictures coming...later. I was going to post those here too, but... So. Many. Pictures. @_@

:D

Oh, cosplay~

2013-07-09T21:41:09Z

You know, sometimes I wonder why I do this, lol. I mean, I really enjoy dressing up, sure, but for someone who, at least for the summer months of the year, considers cosplay a hobby, sometimes I really question whether or not I'm actually cut out for it. :P

Just for the simple fact that I'm really not at all crafty, I don't sew, and am in general just not a creative person when it comes to putting things together and just...visualizing what might work for something? So the end result of me deciding I want to do a costume seems to be me sitting in front of my computer scrolling endlessly through the entire internet, trying to figure out options for this or that and ultimately spending 5 hours looking for the right pair of shoes or something. And then wanting to tear my hair out because WHY WHY WHY did I just spent 5 hours looking for shoes when shoes are the least important part of the costume?! :P

So yeah, it's just... a thing I've been pondering lately as I collect pieces and ideas for the 4+ costumes I'm putting together at the moment. @__@

And really, this is not me feeling sorry for myself or anything just...an observation. Yessssss. XD;;

Also. On a baseball side note... Please can the Giants just win tonight?! Please? I can't take it anymore. ;_;

The end. :D

I just have to say...

2013-07-02T20:05:24Z

Few things brighten my day more than many pictures of Nagayan in drag. *flails*

Bonus Kime does the trick too. <3333

:D

Happy Weekend, flist!

2013-06-28T22:27:11Z

I am so ready for this weekend. Thankfully, it's coming very soon. :D

Tonight, I'm going to listen to Neil Gaiman talk about his new book and then possibly spend many, many hours in line waiting for him to sign mine. :D

Until then, I think I'll just go ahead and watch Hedwig forever :D (Yeah, I'm a little obsessed at the moment. Finding out that Neil Patrick Harris is going to be starring in a revival on Broadway in 2014 didn't exactly help matters. sdlkflksdfjkldfj SO EXCITED. :D)

How are you all? What's new? ♥

Oh, and it's Pride Weekend in SF this weekend!! Conveniently occurring just after the amazing news about DOMA and Prop 8! YAY!! \^o^/