The Light is Fading
"If you need something, anything, just text me okay?" Blaine said, standing beside Kurt at his locker.
"I'll be fine," he nodded, heart hammering in his chest and praying Blaine didn't notice. He piled his things into his bag, not looking forward to the moment the bell rang and Blaine had to leave him. "And if I need you I'll tell you."
"Kurt, baby," Blaine said gently, a hand on his shoulder. He took a breath, swallowing. The bell sounded, cutting off his words. Kurt winced, leaning over to give his cheek a soft peck.
"I'll see you in Glee club, sweetheart," he said quietly, hand on the wall as he walked down the hallway.
Blaine watched him leave, pained, wishing he could do something to make this easier. But Kurt was….was Kurt. He shook his head, slamming his fist against the lockers, frustrated with himself and the situation. "Son of a bitch."
He looked up again, watching him turn into his classroom, eyes of nearly everyone in the hall trained on him, whispers, murmurs and gossip spreading rapidly. Fire ignited and boiled in his stomach, rage spilling over before he had time to really acknowledge it.
He spun around, going to his own classroom before he took someone's head off instead.
He didn't go to class. Managed to get around it all day. He spent the majority of his time beating a punching bag within an inch of its life, letting anger seep from his mind and into his fists, driving hard over and over again.
Blaine had shown him how to do this awhile back, after he'd stopped his incessant crying and actually decided to do something about his predicament rather than be some victim. He taught him how to punch, how to put as much power into each swing as he could while still saving energy for more.
Where all this energy was coming from he didn't know, but it hadn't ebbed, not much anyway, and he'd been going at it for hours. He thought of how he'd been touched without consent, how the doctors had wondered if he was truly being assaulted or not because of his orientation, of how they'd almost taken Blaine to jail after saving him, how Rachel goaded and prodded him to talk about it, to think about it, to try and tell him she understood. How could she? How could she possibly know what that was like?
She'd never been like this, never felt like this and saying that she understood just made him want to hit her. Or walk away. Which he had. He asked to be excused from his history class, away from Rachel and away from eyes that were no doubt judging him, rumors having been slung through the Facebook grapevine and left to stew all through winter break.
He came here, just a few yards away from where he'd been assaulted to begin with. He wasn't sure why, what could have possibly possessed him to come to that place. He'd found the corner he'd been forced into, hearing his own words and David's echo, the phantoms of pain and fear slipped through his bones, reminding him of every second.
And he got angry. He'd practically screamed and sought out this abused bag, and he hadn't stopped since. He remained in his T-shirt, other layers tossed away onto the bench close by, drenched in sweat and not caring for the first time in his existence.
He didn't know how much time passed, how many times he'd fallen against the swaying sack to catch his breath or wiped away angry tears with such self-loathing, how much water he'd gulped down to keep himself from passing out, but no matter how angry he was, he still jumped when someone spoke.
"Kurt?" He spun around, bruised, raw, aching hands still clenched. "Easy, cowboy, it's okay," Coach Bieste said, stepping out of her office. "You okay, kiddo?" He shook his head, wiping his face.
"No," he mumbled. "No, I'm not. I thought it might be okay now that it's been awhile and I'm back at school but I'm not." She nodded, leaning against the wall beside him.
"Well Mr. Schuester's been looking for you. Blaine too. Finally e-mailed me askin' if I knew where you were," she explained.
"Oh my god, glee club," he groaned, hastily going for his things.
"Hey, it's alright," Shannon eased, tone allowing him to slow. "He just asked me to tell you to meet him in the auditorium. Says he might know something that'll make you feel better."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Schue, I-"
"It's okay," he assured. "Just had us worried, that's all."
Kurt listened, sensing no other forms of life in the room with them. He frowned. "Where is everyone?"
"Choir room," he said, "practicing our new number for regionals."
"Shouldn't I be there with them?" He asked, guilty, weary.
"I think there's something you should do first, just as a suggestion." The teacher walked out onto the stage with him, standing dead center, lights dimmed so as not to hurt his eyes. Kurt heard them humming away, some of their warmth reaching his face. "Just sing, Kurt. Whatever you want, as loud as you want, for as long as you want. The place is yours, okay? Sing 'til practice is over, don't sing at all, it's all fine. But I think it might help you feel better." He gently patted the student's shoulder, stepping out quietly.
Kurt waited until the steps were gone and the only sound left the lights and the whirring of the vents. He sighed, slowly going to his knees, just sitting in the stillness for some time. He shut his eyes, hot tears welling in them, lips parting. And he sang.
"There was a time when men were kind. When their voices were soft. And their words inviting," he sniffed, thinking of how he saw before it happened, how Blaine would make him smile and his heart pound. "There was a time when love was blind. And the world was a song. And the song was exciting." He swallowed. "There was a time. But then it all went wrong."
A tear streaked down his face.
"I dreamed a dream in time gone by. When hope was high and life worth living. I dreamed that love, would never die… I dreamed that God would be forgiving."
He smiled ruefully. "Then I was young and unafraid. And dreams were meant to be used and wasted. There was no ransom to be paid, no song unsung, no wine untasted." He bowed his head, hands folded in his lap, begging for something, chest clenching. "But the tigers come at night. With their voice as soft as thunder. As they tear your world apart…" His throat clutched. "As they turn your dreams to shame…"
He stood, fists clenched, practically screaming the note at the universe. So much so that he didn't hear the soft footsteps approaching him.
"But there are dreams that cannot be! And there are storms we cannot weather!" Tears fell without his consent, breath ragged, just the last bits of his anger and desperation escaping with it. "I had a dream my life would be…" All he ever wanted was to be normal, to see sunshine again, his father, flowers. Blaine. "So different from this hell I'm living! So different now than what it seems!" He stopped, breathing hard, sniffling and crying. Blaine stepped onto the stage, looking at him. He fell again, sobbing softly. "Oh. Life has killed the dream. I dreamed…"
Blaine wiped his eyes, watching Kurt cry, heart absolutely throbbing. He cleared his throat, managing a smile. "In my life, there are so many questions and answers that somehow seem wrong." Kurt looked up, startled by the sudden presence. Blaine continued toward him, watching the smallest smile dawn on Kurt's face. "In my life, there are times when I catch the silence, the sigh of a faraway song. And it sings of a world I long to see. Just a whisper away out of reach. Waiting for me." He got closer, chewing his lip, hoping this was working. "Does he know I'm alive? Do I know if he's real? Does he see what I saw, does he feel how I feel?"
Kurt stood now, wiping his cheeks, smiling, singing back verses ahead of him. "I don't know what to say."
Blaine took his hands. "Then make no sound."
"I am lost," he blushed.
"I am found."
"A heart full of love," he held his face, thumbing over stubble while Blaine took his waist.
"A heart full of you."
"A single look and then I knew."
"I knew it too."
"Every day," Blaine pressed his forehead to his, holding him close he could feel the wetness still clinging to his lashes, heart stuttering while this beautiful creature sang with him.
"For it is not a dream. Not a dream after all…"
Kurt barely ducked to meet his lips, scarred, searing heart soothed. Loved.
"For someone that got into three fights at lunch, you don't make a bad Frenchwoman," he teased. Blaine shrugged.
"Walking enigma, I suppose," he said. He watched his face, concerned, and Kurt heard how deep it ran in his tone. "How are you? I know today…today was hard, but…"
"I think I'll be okay," he nodded, a real smile winking back at him. Blaine grinned.
"That's fucking awesome." He kissed him again, deeper this time, hands inside his shirt to touch his skin.
"I'm sweaty and gross," Kurt warned, grimacing. Blaine's grin turned wicked, tongue barely venturing in his lips before he spoke.
"And you look damn good like that," he winked. "And if it's okay with you, I think I'll keep my hands right here for awhile."
Kurt blushed. "Nothing too frisky, we're in school."
"Where's your sense of adventure?" He giggled. Kurt rolled his eyes.
"Are we gonna make-out or-?" Blaine cut him off, kissing him under the lights, making him forget everything, showing him there was so much more to him than pain. Showing him what he was worth.
Showing him another way to fight back.
A/N: More soon! Songs: "I Dreamed a Dream" and "In My Life/A Heart Full of Love" from Les Miserables. (Cut for relevance)