Cut the Cord
Chapter 36

Five months later.

Blaine sits on the couch in the Hudson-Hummel’s house and letshis gaze trail over the various knick-knacks scattered throughout the room. Hehas always admired how seamlessly two families and all their possessions andsentimentalities can integrate into something so natural and homely. He thinksof the front room in his house, the untouched furniture and neutral artworkreserved for guest’s eyes only and almost feels sad, but then he thinks of thenewly-instated pictures of himself on his father’s desk and smiles, especiallywhen he remembers how eagerly his dad had offered to drop him off at Kurt’sthis morning.

Burt had even invited his dad in for coffee, but he’dpolitely declined with an excuse about going over last minute investment notes.It’s only a flimsy excuse if you know him well; then you would realise thatthere’s no way Mr Anderson would leave such vital preparation to the day beforea meeting. He’d nodded vaguely to Burt’s promise of a dinner invite soon, hummingnon-committedly, but not refusing either. And that’s okay with Blaine becausehe knows that his dad is trying. Maybe that’s all that anyone can ask ofanother human being in the end.

Plus, Blaine is starting to suspect that he’s not the onlyone who puts on a façade to hide just how exhausting interacting with otherscan be, especially when trying to make a good impression, or play a partperfectly. Turns out him and his father were stood on the same side of thebattlefield this whole time, both firing pointlessly into an empty field. So,no, his father isn’t going to be winning any father of the year awards any timesoon, but it’s amazing what a little mutual empathy can do for a relationship.

As if reading his mind, Kurt plops down on the couch next tohim and says, “You and your dad seem to be getting on okay still?”

“Yeah, we are.” It feels indescribably good to be able tosay that without lying through his teeth.

Kurt smiles at him, but his eyes have an oddly sad qualityto them.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Kurt replies automatically and then shakes hishead when Blaine raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “No, really, it’s nothing. Iwas just thinking about how much you’re going to miss him in the fall.”

“We’re not thatclose…”

“He’s still your dad, though, and I bet you’re going to misshim like crazy. He’s going to miss you, too.”

Blaine shrugs. “It’ll be worth it.”

Kurt shares one of those grins with him, the mutual excitementpalpable in the air between them. “Yeah, it will.”

“I still can’t quite believe it’s going to happen.”

Kurt throws a cushion at him, but it barely clips his earmuch to his amusement; Kurt’s never had the best aim. “For the millionth time, of course you got into NYADA because youare crazy talented and blew your audition out of the water – I was there,remember? And you’re going to live your own incredible New York dream becauseyou’ve worked hard and you deserve it. I don’t know anyone who deserves it moreactually.”

“Shut up.”

Kurt just raises hishands in mock placation, knowing he’s won, even as Blaine squirms at his words.

People always tell Blaine that he’s too self-deprecating,that his inability to accept compliments is only endearing up to a point. It’sas if, in their minds, he does it on purpose, as if it’s an act that he puts onto seem flawless, but it’s not a conscious effort at all; there’s justsomething so inherently awkward about acknowledging your own strengths. If heagrees, he raises people’s expectations, acknowledging that he is activelystriving towards that trait and hence letting them down when he inevitablystops displaying it. If he doesn’t agree,he automatically exposes himself as vulnerable, a person whose self-worthliterally relies on the opinions of others. Either way it weakens him and foryears he had dreaded compliments of any sort. He remembers the distress ofthose first few months of friendship with Kurt, how Kurt had complimented himin every other sentence, unaware that he was making Blaine deflate with each overstatedword.

It’s different now, of course. Kurt isn’t viewing himthrough rose-tinted glasses and Blaine knows that there is at least some truthto his words—even if he didn’t, he trusts Kurt’s judgement of him now in a waythat he couldn’t have when they’d first met; Kurt knows him—but, still, the onslaught of compliments tugs his faceinto the barest hint of a frown.

“Are you okay?” Kurt asks after a moment and Blaine knowshe’s referring to more than the slight crease of his forehead. For the mostpart, Kurt has stopped treating Blaine like a vase teetering on the verge offalling, but there’s always an underlying edge to his concern. ‘Did you have a good day?’ holds agravity behind the mundane tone and ‘Areyou okay?’ refers to a deeper sort of wellbeing than his immediate mood.

Blaine shrugs, but offers Kurt a smile. “Define ‘okay’…”

Kurt picks at a barely-noticeable loose thread on his lightweightsweater.

“Point taken.” He says after a while and it feels like oneof those moments that could easily descend into an argument for no apparentreason.

“I wasn’t making a point.” Blaine protests, stopping Kurt’shand from fiddling further with his clothing.

“I know,” He’s smiling when he looks up, much to Blaine’srelief. “I’m going to go get some of my tailoring scissors to deal with this.”He gestures down at his sweater and Blaine grins at how very Kurt the obsessive need to keep hisclothes pristine is.

“Okay.”

Blaine counts his footsteps up and then back down the stairsa moment later, laying his head back against the top of the couch.

Kurt comes back into the room and sits down, noisilysnipping at thin air with the scissors now clutched in his hand. He makes nomove to attack the unruly thread.

“Okay doesn’t needa definition.” Kurt states suddenly and Blaine’s eyes slide up from his handsto his face. Slowly, Kurt sinks back into the couch, his shoulder againstBlaine’s so that when he, too, leans his head backwards, their eyes are level.

“Point taken.”

Kurt laughs and the air puffs out over Blaine’s cheek,slightly too warm. “Good, because I was makingone.”

“Aren’t you always?”

Kurt’s only answer is to lean in and kiss him slowly, mouthsjust a little bit dry until their tongues meet. There’s none of the urgency oftwo teenagers who need too much and have too little time, but there is anunspoken reverence, a knowledge that neither of them are going to take thisfeeling for granted ever again.

Blaine pulls back first after a moment, breathless asalways, and takes the scissors which had been getting dangerously close to hisstomach from Kurt’s hands, placing them carefully on the table instead.

“Ooh, I almost forgot about the cronuts!” Kurt’s sudden exclamationbreaks the charged silence as he leaps off the couch.

“What?”

“Well, I figured I’d introduce to a staple of the New Yorkdiet. Ge you accustomed to it and all that.”

“Cronuts as in those half-donut, half-croissant things?”

“Yep, they are heaven in a pastry.”

“Better than cheesecake?” Blaine asks sceptically, settlingback into his previous position.

Kurt looks pained. “Ughhh…maybe? Yes? God, I feel like I’mbeing unfaithful to my cheesecake now. Hang on, you can decide for yourself.”

The words trigger a little jolt in Blaine’s chest as Kurtleaves the room in search of the pastries—he reckons they always will do—butthe guilt isn’t all-consuming anymore, easily eclipsed by the new experienceswaiting for Blaine. Yes, they are only pastry snacks, but as he sits therewaiting, he knows his anticipation is for so much more than that. He’s excitedabout all the new things that Kurt is going to show him, and the things thathe’ll replace out for himself, in New York, the cityscape he’s dreamed of fallinginto since he was six years old.

As the excitement surges through him, he closes his eyes andlets his emotions float, unimpeded, through his entire body until it’sthrumming with excited energy. He feels like a balloon. He’s been drifting,always drifting, since middle school when his thoughts and feelings could nolonger be compartmentalised, or defined by those around him. The weightlessnessno longer scares him, though; he knows the he doesn’t need to be imperishablyattached to someone to stop himself from falling. Drifting along might bedaunting, but it’s the only way to keep moving, and he knows that people areright next to him, strings proffered, should he need a moment of respite, atemporary anchor while he re-inflates himself. He can’t control the wind andpeople are going to float into and away from him all the time, but they’re notholding his string so they can’t let go of him; if he falls, it will be underhis own steam.

He has been a balloon for far too long to let it faze him;he’s proud of it. He can’t wait to float onwards, free and unencumbered,lighter and more versatile than the people down below him. He’s not completelyfull of air and he doesn’t have an attractive, water resistant smile drawn ontohim, but he is about to have a new, busier skyline to drift through at his own messypace and it’s going to be flawlessly perfect, just the way he likes it. He’sgoing to fly.