Title: Eight Years Coming (3/?)
Spoilers (if any): Blaine exists. Though lovely, we have to disregard 2x16 and onwards for our story continuity.
Warnings (if any): swearing!
Word Count: 4563 (Total: 13204)
Summary: In the following eight years after high school graduation, Kurt has made a name for himself in an industry nobody expected: cupcakes. When Blaine suddenly makes a reappearance into his life, his perfectly constructed life crumbles into emotional turmoil.
“It’s like…” Kurt took the time between enormous, sloppy bites of pecan ice cream, “…we’re back in high school, and he is just as oblivious as ever.”
“Every girl’s plight,” Molly said, nodding sympathetically.
“He has to know!” Kurt exclaimed. “How in the WORLD could he be THAT ignorant? For eight years, Molly. EIGHT years, I have pined over this boy. This… shit, he looks so good, doesn’t he?” Kurt reached over and took a long pull off of her Nutty Irishman. “He is no longer a boy, that’s for sure.”
“I like you like this. You freaking out about something else than work,” Molly commented dazedly. She held the gigantic scoop of ice cream upon a silver spoon thoughtfully before sticking it in her mouth. “It’ff like you’ff haff sumpffing to freak out about.”
“I hate you. You are not a supportive friend,” Kurt lamented. He drained the rest of her drink. “Do we have any more Bailey’s?”
“All out, baby, sorry. You wanna watch When Harry Met Sally?”
“Anything but that!” Kurt groaned, stuffing his face into one of his pillows. “Literally anything!”
At that point, Molly’s phone vibrated. She picked it up. “Hello? Marcus baby, I’m with Kurt right now. We’re having a sort of girly crisis.” With his head still in the pillow, Kurt flipped her the bird. She just rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, alright. Love you too. Bye.”
She clicked her phone closed and sighed, her eyes dreamy. Kurt, who had looked up in this time, flopped down again.
“You’re mad because I’m happy?”
“Nobody should be happy when I’m this frustrated.”
Molly just sighed once more, standing up and picking up her purse off the floor. “Well, Kurt, unlike other girls, I’m not really into pity parties,” she announced, and he looked up at her fearfully.
“No, I need you right now! Mo-olly-yy…” he dragged out her name, like it had several more syllables.
“See you later, Kurt,” she said, smiling at him and poking his nose. “You are gonna be so hungover tomorrow. And you have work. Just because you took today off for your hot little date with Blaine doesn’t mean I’ll let you do it every day.” She winked at him.
And with that, Kurt was left alone.
He pouted his lips and huffed out a breath that no one would hear.
He looked to the right: a blank Dior Grey wall hung with too-familiar paintings.
He looked to the left, his bangs flopping into his face. Warm night breeze drifted in from the velvety royal blue sky in through the open window.
He looked to his extreme left, at the pillow. Just less than a day ago a mop of half-gelled curls had been resting there.
Kurt looked around abruptly, making sure that no one was watching him. He slowly began to lean over onto his stomach, eyes stealthily roaming around in their hazily inebriated state, before hastily burying himself in the previously-stated pillow, taking the deepest breath he had ever taken in his life.
Spearmint, hair product, and light cologne.
To any other sober person, it would have smelled like a pillow. But to Kurt, it smelled like Blaine always had: like crisp morning.
But then, Kurt suddenly realized what he was doing.
He let out a monumental groan of frustration and rolled onto his back, whacking himself with the “sacred” pillow, hoping to whack some sense into that stupidly hormonal head as well.
Suddenly he sat up. He realized what he needed. Retail therapy.
But he was tipsy as fuck.
…there was always HauteLook.
So he slunk over to his computer, a grin growing on his face. When he pressed the on button, nothing happened. He frowned, pressing it again. No luck.
Maybe it was unplugged.
He went underneath the desk to try and locate the cable, but the cable… wasn’t there. It wasn’t in the wall, or in the computer. Like it had vanished.
It hadn’t. There was a bright pink sticky note on the wall socket.
“Hey baby boy. I know you shop when you’re frustrated but you’re gonna go in the red again if you do. Love, Molly.”
The sound of utter rage and irritation that Kurt released at that moment echoed in his scantly decorated apartment.
He pulled at his two-day-unwashed hair, something that he’d normally never do, making it stand up, disheveled. What was he going to do now? Drunk dial Blaine?
Oooh no. He then made it a point to hide his own phone.
He flicked on the TV, grabbed a box of Kleenex, and bought Legends of the Fall on his On Demand. If a war-stricken, young-thirties Brad Pitt couldn’t get him out of this funk, nothing could.
Kurt tried very, very hard to concentrate on Brad Pitt’s face. He really did. But, with combined factors of inebriation and an increasing craving for chocolate, it was becoming difficult. He soon came into the conclusion that if he did not taste chocolate on his tongue he would simply die, and so he paused the movie at thirty minutes in and tumbled out of bed.
Into the kitchen he went. He tugged open the cupboard and found not only half a bag of Lindt truffles and a pristine new package of double-chocolate Milano cookies, but an unopened jar of Nutella.
Kurt shrugged to himself. You can never have too much chocolate.
But just as he was turning to close the cabinet and head back to Brad Pitt therapy, he spotted a sheet of printer paper folded in half at the foot of his front door, evidently pushed in through the little mail slit.
Kurt stumbled over and dropped everything in his arms to read it:
‘Keep tomorrow night free. -B’
Kurt didn’t feel very drunk anymore.
But he did still crave chocolate.
He tucked the note safely into his jeans pocket and walked, very dignifiedly, back to his bedroom.
The next day was Friday.
Kurt was jumpy. Well, perhaps jumpy was an understatement, but saying that he flinched violently at the slightest touch is a bit mean.
Molly and Olivia kept giggling, reenacting what they thought were scenes from Kurt’s fantasies.
“Kurt,” Molly began lowly, her voice a terrifying baritone. “I have waited for you all my life.”
“Oh, Blaine,” Olivia squealed, sounding like a mouse, “Ravage me! Right in the middle of the store, my love!”
“With pleasure!” Molly roared. They fell upon each other, laughing hysterically, with Kurt turning a bright tomato red.
“That is not funny,” he clipped.
“Yes it is,” Gemma said quietly from beside him. Molly whooped and pumped her fist in the air.
“Yeah, it is!”
“Blaine, don’t get distracted! You’re leaving me unattended!”
Immediately Molly dipped Olivia low, but then dropped her, and fell over her, both of them guffawing too loudly to care about any bruises.
“You guys are so annoying,” Kurt grumbled, his face still flushed. “I should fire all of you. Get a clean slate.”
“Nobody else could put up with you,” Molly pointed out, Olivia nodding fervently. “Or us, for that matter.”
“And you love us,” Olivia sang.
“You are all so lucky that there aren’t brunch rushes at cupcake shops.”
“What the hell is a BRUNCH rush?”
Kurt smirked and playfully pushed her away. “Back into the front, all of you. I can handle things back here.”
Kurt was glad to admit that his jumpiness wore off just a minuscule bit as he got into his cupcake groove. Put batch in the oven - Icing on the cool batch - Take batch out of oven - Repeat. His business and work had turned out to be, as stressful as it had ultimately become, a stress-reliever. Any problems he had in his personal life he could simply ice away onto Strawberry Shortcake cupcakes. It was because of this that he focused all of his energy into making perfect pastries for the hungry customers out there, and thus calming his nerves at least a little bit. (It also helped that his ever-playful employees soon found themselves preoccupied without distractions at the counter out in front, tending to the daily cupcake rush.
But alas, any progress made in the jumpy-nerve-business soon reverted back to square one when Olivia peeked around the corner of the kitchen just around closing time.
“Kurt…” she stifled a giggle. “I think you have a visitor.”
Kurt quirked an eyebrow, grabbing the blue dishtowel off the sink. He wiped his floured hands and walked out into the storefront.
He immediately halted when he saw Blaine perusing the window of cupcakes. Kurt quickly glanced over to Molly who had to stuff a fist in her mouth to keep from giggling at Kurt’s astounded face. Kurt glared at her, quickly flipping her the bird before Blaine looked up at him. A tremendous smile broke across his face.
“Hey, Kurt,” he greeted. Oh Gaga, even his voice was suave. “You know, I’m doing the advertising for this place and I’ve never come in here.”
“I know,” Kurt said, his throat suddenly unbelievably dry. “I’m in here practically every day.” Blaine nodded thoughtfully and walked closer to Kurt, who now stood behind the counter.
“So I take it you got my note?” he asked, but it wasn’t really a question. Kurt nodded, still feeling incredible cottonmouth. “Awesome. So I’ll be taking you out tonight.”
“Sounds lovely,” Kurt rasped, and he heard a snort from behind him. He whipped his head around but Molly had clasped her hands behind her back, her mouth in a tight, obviously subdued smile. He turned back to Blaine swiftly, who looked rather confused.
“Um, where will we be going?”
“One of my personal favorites,” he said, leaning against the counter to smile (flirtatiously, Kurt imagined) at his best friend. “California Pizza Kitchen.”
Kurt heard Molly suffocate what must have been a squeal. Blaine glanced at her and smiled.
“Hey there, Molly.”
“Hi,” Molly said, twiddling her fingers at Blaine.
“Please excuse my employees,” Kurt said, rolling his eyes in dry embarrassment.
“They’re quite juvenile.” He shot an icy glare at Olivia and Molly, who shrank back against the wall trying not to smile crazily. Gemma just watched them, shaking her head indulgently.
“Well leave me with your juvenile employees for a minute,” Blaine said enthusiastically,
“And go change so we can go.”
Kurt was out of there faster than a bullet.
In the safety of the kitchen he ripped off his apron and ran to hang it on its designated hook, nearly knocking over several new batches of cupcakes (which Gemma, who had followed him in, placed sturdily upon the counter again). He ran over to the opposite counter to grab his normal clothes from the duffel bag he brought to work everyday, and was already beginning to unbutton his uniform before he reached the bathroom when Gemma lightly tugged on his sleeve. He snapped around, swaying a little.
“Kurt,” she said, smiling. “Calm down.”
“What?” Kurt squeaked. “I’m calm. I’m totally calm. Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He made to reach for the restroom door again, but continued: “Wait, you left him alone with those two? Oh my god.” He turned away once again, but Gemma gently pulled him back.
“Listen. You stress and work so hard over this shop every day. I don’t want you to bring that into your new-found personal life as well.” She smirked at her own humor. “You deserve some fun for once. Don’t complicate it.”
Kurt made a mental note to begin taking Gemma’s advice over Molly’s. “Thanks Gem,” he said, hugging her.
And as soon as she returned to the front, Kurt was off again, changing into a completely Marc Jacobs outfit in thirty seconds flat.
He smoothed his bangs slowly before sauntering to meet his date.
Blaine’s eyes widened when Kurt reentered the room. Kurt stopped short, immediately self-conscious.
“What?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest. Blaine just shook his head and met Kurt’s eyes.
“Nothing. Here, let’s go. Could you leave your car here?”
Kurt opened his mouth, but Molly cut in. “Actually, I carpooled with Olivia this morning, so I could drive your car home, Kurt,” she offered sweetly. Kurt made a mental note to give her a raise. Right after Gemma.
“Key’s on the hook,” he called over his shoulder as he and Blaine exited the shop, Blaine holding the door open for him. “So, CPK? I haven’t been there since I was a kid.”
“Hopefully not another experience like before?” Blaine asked worriedly. Kurt grinned.
“No, no, it’s just been a while. Now I’ll ask you again: how old are you? And what is with you and eating out?”
“At least seven,” Blaine replied thoughtfully. “And as a gay man, I don’t really enjoy eating out, but I do love dining on the town.” Kurt’s mouth dropped open in surprise, but Blaine just laughed loudly and got in the car. Kurt just shut his mouth and coughed into his hand, masking giggles.
The restaurant was filled to the brim with happily chatting diners.
“Are you sure this was a good idea?” Kurt fumbled with his words over the loud din as people in the crowded line pressed him into Blaine as they squeezed by.
Blaine seemed not to recognize the people who pushed Kurt and welcomed his newly appeared closeness by throwing an arm around him and leaning into his ear to be heard over the commotion.
“Don’t worry. I planned ahead.”
Kurt let Blaine steer him, miraculously assertive, through the crowd at the front of the restaurant and up to the harried black man at the computer.
“I have a reservation under Anderson?” Blaine asked, moving his arm down to Kurt’s waist in order to be more surreptitious. Kurt focused very hard at the stack of crayons on the man’s podium.
The man scanned his list and nodded, smiling wearily. “Right this way.”
He grabbed two menus and ventured out into the fray. Blaine and Kurt trailed on his heels.
Kurt was dubious that there really were any seats available; every single one they passed was fully occupied with people halfway through their dinner. However, surprisingly, amazingly, they were led to a small table for two in the quietest corner of the dining area.
“Your waiter will be right with you,” said the man, and he strode quickly away to attend to the other hungry monsters ravaging his post.
“You really know how to treat a guy,” Kurt said lightly, and Blaine laughed. “CPK; who’d have known it could be so classy?”
“See, I know. I know what to do.”
Their waiter walked up to them. He was tall, and that was the first thing Kurt noticed. But his stunning blue eyes is what caught him next.
“Hi, I’m Mason, I’ll be serving you tonight.” He flashed a smile at Kurt, his teeth bright and white. “Do you want to hear our specials? I’ve got a few that I’d like to share with you.”
Kurt looked to Blaine, who looked a little disgruntled. He tilted his head at him, but Blaine just smiled tightly. “That’s fine,” Blaine told the waiter. “We have regular meals.”
Kurt was about to open his mouth to ask, ‘We do?’ but honestly he didn’t think that would go over so well with Blaine. Mason the waiter barely acknowledged Blaine at all.
“So would you like something to drink, then?” Mason asked, looking specifically at Kurt.
“I especially enjoy the Asian Plum Martini. Think maybe that’d be your type?”
“Um, that sounds…” Kurt began slowly, sneaking a glance at Blaine, who was looking more irritated by the moment. “…not alright, at all, no. Um, could we just get some wine?”
“Sure,” Mason said, smoothly pulling out the wine list from his apron. “White or red?”
“Blaine?” Kurt asked. “What do you think? Red or white?”
“Whatever you want,” Blaine replied shortly. Kurt scowled, but Blaine didn’t notice. He turned back to Mason.
“Red’s fine. A bottle of Blackstone Merlot, please.”
“Excellent choice,” Mason trilled. “I’ll be right back then.”
Mason ambled away, and Kurt looked sharply at Blaine, who stared right back.
“What?” Blaine grunted.
“What was that?!” Kurt exclaimed.
“I don’t know what-“ But Kurt silenced him with an incredulous diva stare.
Blaine shrugged and grinned an apparently forced smile. “It’s nothing.” He opened up a menu, pretending to be oblivious to Kurt’s judging eyes. “What do you normally like to get here?”
Kurt lifted his nose into the air slightly in surrender. He would let slide Blaine’s obnoxious behavior… for now. “Barbecue Chicken Salad,” he said without hesitation.
“I get the Sicilian pizza. Want to get both and split?” He asked, just as the waiter came back with their drinks surprisingly quick.
“Sounds great,” Kurt said brightly, as Mason the waiter cleared his throat.
“Here are your drinks…” he said jovially, once again taking no consideration to Blaine. He reached to place the glasses on the table and brushed Kurt’s perfectly pressed sleeve on the way.
“Oh,” Mason said airily. “So sorry.”
“It’s no problem,” Kurt said, oblivious.
It was apparently a problem for Blaine, who said with soft firmness, “You should really be more careful when reaching across tables.” He did not look at Mason, but sipped intently from his glass.
Mason smiled tightly. “Of course,” was all he could say, and he flashed Kurt a smoldering smile before turning on his heel to leave.
Kurt simply raised an eyebrow at Blaine.
Mason was back almost as quickly as he left, a brightly colored piece of paper in his hand.
“So I’ll be taking your orders now,” he said tightly, still smiling at Kurt and fully ignoring Blaine. “But before I forget…”
He handed the paper to Blaine, who took it confusedly.
“Thought it’d be a bit more appropriate for your maturity,” he commented airily, brushing a hand in the air. Kurt’s eyes widened and Blaine’s face folded into a glower. Blaine was holding a child’s menu.
Blaine was about to stand, but Kurt placed a hand on his shoulder and stood up. He looked straight at Mason.
“I’m sorry, Mason,” Kurt cut. “But that is entirely unprofessional. If you worked for me, you’d have a pay cut, a warning and no chance at a promotion. You cannot talk to customers that way. Are we clear, or do I have to talk to your manager?”
Mason’s eyes were stretched broad as he nodded his assent. “Thank you,” Kurt said.
“We’re going to have a full order of the Barbecue Chicken Salad and a Sicilian Pizza. I work in the food business. I know how things work. You do one thing to that pizza, or put us on the very end of the food queue, and I’ll be going to have a nice long talk with the general manager.”
Mason nodded once more and scurried away, not looking back. Kurt sighed and sat back down. Blaine looked to be in total awe of Kurt. Again, Kurt was self-conscious.
“What? I just… can’t stand unprofessionalism,” Kurt muttered. Blaine’s face could have been split by the grin gracing it.
“No, it’s totally fine with me. You can talk back to waiters any time. Preferably around me.”
“I’m a pro at handling immature people,” Kurt said indignantly.
Blaine laughed into his hand. “Yeah, I can see that.”
But Kurt narrowed his eyes at his friend. “And you were acting pretty immature as well,” he hinted. “He wouldn’t have been so rude to you if you hadn’t acted that way.”
“Well, considering the fact that we’ve been acting like five year olds for two days straight…” Blaine retorted, intentionally shooting a blazing smile at Kurt, whose built up facade of anger melted away in a snap. He opened his mouth to retort but nothing came out, so Blaine continued.
“You’re just so dense. You actually think the reason he treated me like that was because I was being immature?”
“Of course,” Kurt said, blinking in surprise.
Blaine laughed dryly. “You honestly couldn’t tell?”
Kurt frowned. “Don’t mess with me, Blaine. What are you talking about?”
Blaine let out an unbecoming guffaw. “Oh my god, Kurt. He was practically drooling over you.”
Kurt was astonished. “I… How can you…”
But Blaine cut in. “I would think that you of all people would know when someone was trying to court you…” he trailed off and gazed into his wine, muttering something under his breath that sounded something like “obviously not.”
Kurt determinedly grabbed his wine glass and downed its contents in a single pull, screwing up his face. Blaine looked up with eyes wide.
“Are you supposed to savor wine…?”
Kurt slammed down the glass, a fiery look in his eyes.
“Listen, Blaine,” Kurt growled. “I’m gonna try and make things clear for you, just as I did with Mason the Waiter. Capisce?”
“I can’t believe you just sa- yes. Yes. I do.” Blaine blurted at Kurt’s glare. He sat back in his chair, eyes still broadly opened.
“You have absolutely no right to be jealous, Blaine. I was jealous for fucking years. Jeremiah? Rachel? That German exchange student?”
“OK, that one was for like, a week…” Blaine began, but he closed his mouth quickly. Kurt sighed, pushing a lock of hair back into place.
“You are oblivious!” Kurt exclaimed. “Completely, utterly oblivious!”
“I’M oblivious!” Blaine repeated in disbelief. Kurt didn’t realize when they had both stood, bud suddenly they were staring each other down. “I’M oblivious! Goddamn it, Kurt…”
He grabbed Kurt’s wrist and pulled him out from the table, placing his hands on his shoulders and shaking him lightly. “I don’t think I’m the one who’s oblivious,” he said lowly.
Involuntary tears sprung to Kurt's eyes as his voice broke halfway through his response, "Really Blaine? Because I've lo--” He swallowed briefly, looking downwards, shaking his head. He looked back up. “I’ve wanted you for eight years and you haven't really seemed to notice or even give a damn."
Blaine’s hazel-green eyes were locked on Kurt’s lowered steel blue ones, suspended in a lapse of thought. They were communicating in that miraculously electrifying way they always used to; saying monumental things without words, making foggy subjects clear and even foggier at the same time. Hearts beat sporadically, not sure whether to beat at a mile a minute or stop dead completely.
Kurt heightened his eyes to Blaine’s, a single rebellious tear sliding down his pale cheek. He wished he could wipe it away, but he didn’t realize that Blaine had interlocked their fingers. He took a strong breath and said softly,
“Please tell me I didn’t just say that.”
“You did,” Blaine said, barely smiling. But he wasn’t looking into Kurt’s eyes anymore. They were leveled on a place slightly lower. Kurt did not fail to notice this.
“Please,” he said, not knowing what was tumbling out of his mouth, trying not to sound desperate, “I don’t think I can wait another second.”
Blaine’s hands left his shoulders and flew to the sides of Kurt’s face, tangling in his hair.
Kurt was about to protest, he had spent so long on his hair this morning, but all his thoughts came to a complete standstill.
Blaine’s lips were pressed against his, sans technique, just two faces meeting, and as quickly as it happened, it was over. It was OVER. Not even two seconds had passed.
Kurt just stared at him. Blaine drew his hands to his sides, but pressed a fist to his mouth. “Um, fuck.”
“‘Um, fuck’ is right. What the hell was that?!” Kurt exclaimed. Blaine just crinkled his eyes, biting his fist.
“Uh, I guess I took that wrong, I’m sorry, I don’t —”
“I waited eight Goddamn years for that kiss. No WAY is that the kiss I’ll be remembering,” Kurt said angrily, pulling Blaine back to him by the neck and they were joined once more. Kurt’s hands found their way into Blaine’s curls, knotting them. An insistent tongue forced his way through Kurt’s parted lips, and Kurt involuntarily groaned, pulling Blaine impossibly closer. Blaine’s hands encircled Kurt’s waist, and this was IT, this was what Kurt had been waiting for…
An awkward, impatient throat clearing brought them back to the present. They separated, their eyes locked, both breathing hard, but Kurt turned away to see who could possibly have a problem with an event as lovely as this.
“Your food?” Mason the waiter said indignantly. He gestured vaguely to the food in his hands.
Kurt and Blaine were still paused in an embrace, staring without comprehension at him, realizing that there was indeed a world outside thier personal paradise for two.
Kurt coughed awkwardly and tried to separate himself from Blaine, but Blaine held fast to his waist and only moved their combined persona out of Mason’s path to the table.
“Please,” Blaine said mock-politely, risking the release of one hand to gesture welcomingly at the table.
Mason shot them a jaded look as he dumped the meal down. He said bravely, “Don’t let me interrupt you,” huffed, and strode off pretentiously.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Blaine answered him after he had gone and, smiling as if world peace had just been declared, he leaned in to place feverish lips on Kurt’s neck.
Kurt felt his body go a bit limp when Blaine’s lips burnt holes upon his throat, but he gently placed his delicate hands upon Blaine’s chest.
“This is inappropriate,” Kurt said, without much conviction. “We’re in a restaurant. Later.”
Blaine reluctantly pulled away, his hand trailing from Kurt’s hips to his arm, then his hand. They sat back down at the table, their food sitting there, suddenly seeming a whole lot more bland.
They ate in relative silence, just marveling in being together, and looking up at one another. The only words exchanged consisted mostly of, “Would you like some more?” and “Aren’t there any avocados left?”
Kurt had fought him a bit, but Blaine insisted on paying. They left the restaurant, Blaine having left an enormous, vainglorious tip for Mason. They were linked arm-in-arm, Kurt feeling rather delirious at the whole turn of events.
They sat in the car, silent still, and Blaine drove. They had been driving for about twenty minutes when Kurt scrutinized their surroundings.
“Blaine, where are we going?”
“I haven’t a clue, actually. I was waiting for a cue,” Blaine admitted sheepishly. Kurt bit his lip and smiled.
“We could just… I don’t know, go to the park or something? Sit on a bench for a while, talk?” Kurt attempted, his face going bright red. Blaine raised an eyebrow, his eyes still on the road.
“Mr. Hummel, I say!” Blaine said dramatically, but Kurt just huffed, embarrassed.
“I don’t know. I… I’ve just kind of always wanted to do that with you.”
Blaine didn’t say anything. Kurt sat back in his chair, mortified, and didn’t say another word. But then the car stopped, and they were at a dimly-lit park with rolling green hills. “Oh, Blaine, we don’t have to, I mean…”
“No, come on, Kurt. I can tell this is important to you. If anything else, we can just make out.”
Face burning, Kurt got out of the car, tripping over his own feet on the way.