Work Text:
Blaine's father calls him on Thursday evening, which isn't all that unusual. He talks with his parents usually once a week so that they can catch each other up on their lives. But he doesn't normally get a phone call from his father's cell phone.
"Hey, Dad," Blaine says, answering on the third ring.
"Hey, Blaine," his father responds.
"What's up?" Blaine is doing the dishes that he and Kurt left in the sink that morning before leaving for work. He pauses to dry his hands and turns the faucet off. He turns around and leans against the counter.
"Not much, just wanted to catch up. How are things going?"
"Everything's going well. It's open submission season, so most of my days I'm reading plays."
"Read anything good?" His father asks.
Blaine shrugs. "Eh, nothing special. Nothing that made my heart race, at least. How about you? How's work?"
His father is a few years away from retirement. If it were up to him, he'd retire now, but he knows he needs to stick it out for his pension. Blaine thinks his father will be bored out of his mind once he retires, but he also knows that his father truly hates his job. There were massive layoffs at his company, and now they're understaffed and overworked and no one's getting any bonuses or raises. He refers to his direct supervisor as "The Bitch Boss," and Blaine still struggles with whether or not he should explain to his father that there are better ways to describe his boss other than calling her a bitch. But at the same time, from every story he's heard, she really does sound awful, and he's never in the mood to have that political correctness talk with his dad. So for now he stays mum and lets his father blow off steam when ranting about the incompetence of his employees.
"Work is work," his father replies. "They keep hiring undereducated, under-experienced, fresh-out-of-college kids who don't know the work or have the skills, and then they quit after a few months finding a job that pays more and demands less. So now I am working on three contracts that aren't mine, on top of my own load, because two employees quit last week without giving notice."
"That sounds frustrating," Blaine replies, scratching the back of his head. "At least you passed your yearly review, so you won't have to sit down with your supervisor for a while."
"Thank God for that," his father replies.
"How's mom doing?"
"She's doing well. She spoke with Cooper last night for hours, so she's happy."
"Cooper called?!" Blaine questions. Cooper, while loving, is often neglectful in maintaining contact with his parents and Blaine. It's not out of malice. Rather, he never remembers to call unless there's something he needs. He's always happy to chat, though, if someone else reaches out to him. At one point in his life, their mother made Cooper schedule phone calls with her. She would text him dates so he couldn't forget, and then during the days leading up to their phone dates, she would text him to remind him.
"Yes. He got a role in a play and wanted to tell us all about it."
"That's amazing!" Blaine says, smiling. "I'll give him a call later this weekend."
"I'm sure he'd love that," his father replies warmly.
"Is mom there?" Blaine asks. "I want to see how her dinner date with the girls went."
"Ah, no." His father stumbles over his words for a moment. "I'm actually on a walk, and thought I'd call."
"Oh," Blaine says, not sure how to respond. He wonders if this is a new exercise regime of his father's, going for walks at six at night. "How's the weather?"
He rolls his eyes at himself for asking such a dumb question.
"It's quite nice, actually. Brisk. I had some things on my mind and I thought walking it out might help."
Blaine hears the front door open, and a few seconds later Kurt rounds the corner. He gives Blaine a smile before walking past the kitchen and going towards their bedroom, likely putting his stuff down and getting out of his work clothes.
"What's on your mind?" Blaine asks.
His father doesn't respond for a few moments, and Blaine questions whether he should ask again or change the subject. But before he can do anything, his father replies.
"You remember Donnie, right?"
Blaine thinks for a moment. "Uhm, no. I don't think I do."
"Your mother's friend Susan Carlow's son," his father replies.
Blaine does the mental imaging in his head. "The eight year old?" He asks. Susan moved into his parents' neighborhood after Blaine went to college, and he only ever really saw her or her son at summer BBQ's back when he was in college and went home for the summer.
"He's fifteen now," his dad replies.
"What about him?"
"He came out as gay two weeks ago," his father replies.
"Good for him," Blaine says, not unkindly. Though he's a little bit confused why his father thinks that this is information he needs to know. "I hope his parents took it well."
"That's the thing," his dad responds, and Blaine can hear his labored voice through the phone, as if he's lightly jogging uphill. "They were fine with it. Your mother was walking through the neighborhood with her girlfriends, and they saw the Carlows' car in the driveway, and there was a rainbow bumper sticker on it."
Kurt walks into the kitchen while his dad is talking, and looks at Blaine inquisitively. Blaine mouths back, "My dad," and Kurt nods with understanding. Kurt opens the fridge and grabs a hard-boiled egg and a clementine.
"Mind if I go for a quick jog?" He asks Blaine.
Blaine nods, still listening to his father, and Kurt gives him a light peck on the cheek before heading back towards the front door.
"So your mother asked about it when she and Susan went for coffee the next day," his father continues, "and Susan said that Donnie came out. She ordered it online that night, and put it right on her car."
Blaine gave a small grin, thinking about Susan Carlow going on Amazon and searching for rainbow bumper stickers just so she could put it on her car as fast as possible.
"That's really sweet of her," he replies genuinely.
"Yeah, I thought so, too," his dad says. "And Jon, her husband—you remember him?—your mother says that Susan said that he took it well."
"That's nice," Blaine responds.
"I think so, too," his dad repeats.
"So what got you thinking about this?" Blaine asks. He doesn't quite know why his father wants to share with him that two weeks ago a teenager came out. His father has never been the type to tell Blaine every time he met a gay person, or forward any articles about people coming out. His father is quietly supportive of Blaine's sexuality, though it's been a windy decade until he got to this place of acceptance. It took a while for him to shed his shame, but he now very quickly and easily corrects people who ask if his son has a girlfriend.
"He's dating a lovely man, Kurt," his father will reply now without hesitation. It just took a while for him to get to this point.
"I just," his dad says, pausing briefly. "It just made me think..."
Again, his father stumbles over his words, which is uncharacteristic of him.
"I felt so bad hearing that story," his dad says. "And I spent the past few days thinking about it, and thinking why. And I saw Donnie biking through the neighborhood yesterday with his friends, and they were laughing and smiling. And I don't know if they know that he's gay. But he seemed so happy anyway. And then I remembered that his mom put a rainbow sticker on the trunk of her car, and his father hugged him and told him he loved him."
Blaine's father is never this unsorted with his stories. It's a bit offsetting to hear him ramble slightly incoherently, like his thought isn't yet solidified but he still has to get the words out as fast as they come to him, in case he forgets them, or chickens out and lets them die on his tongue.
"And it reminded me that I didn't."
"That you didn't what?" Blaine asks, his stomach suddenly dropping at the hint his father is giving him.
This is not something they've ever talked about, and Blaine has long since given up the hope that they maybe one day would. It's filling him with nerves that they're having this conversation without warning. Without Blaine being able to control it. Without it being face-to-face.
"I didn't hug you, when you came out," his dad says. "I didn't tell you I loved you. And I did, Blaine. I do!" His dad is quick to add. "I love you so much, and I always have. But I didn't tell you then, and I'm so sorry."
Blaine's tongue is a dead weight in his mouth, and he has to swallow twice to get his saliva going.
"It's okay," he says, but immediately regrets it. He doesn't want to sweep this under the rug. He doesn't want his father to think that it was okay at the time, but he also doesn't really want to open up old wounds that have long since healed. His father has done more than enough in recent years to show Blaine how much he loves him, and how much he loves Kurt and respects their relationship.
But just because it's okay now, doesn't mean that it was okay then.
"But I don't think it was," his dad continues, and Blaine can once again hear his breath coming in labored, and he wonders if it's from the walk he's on or from feeling overly emotional. "I couldn't stop thinking all week what would have happened if I hugged you, and apologized for all those homophobic jokes I made when you were growing up. Or what would have happened if I joined PFLAG and put a rainbow flag outside our house. Would it have made your life any better? Would it have made us closer back then?"
Blaine doesn't quite know if it's a rhetorical question, but he's hoping it is. His heart's beating irregularly, and he doesn't want to have to tell his dad over the phone that yes, it absolutely would have made a world of difference. It would have made Blaine feel loved and protected. It would have made him feel respected and legitimized. He would have gone to his parents about crushes and awkward sex questions and first heartbreak, like all of his straight friends did with their parents.
There was an entire period in college where Blaine was on the Board of his college's LGBTQ club that he never told his parents about. He never shared with them the LGBTQ Studies courses he took, or the volunteer opportunity he had at an HIV Wellness Center, or that he got a fake ID not so he could buy alcohol, but so that he could go to gay clubs and dance with guys in a place he felt safe. He'd mention his boyfriend Kurt in passing during phone calls, but never even tried to introduce them to each other until they'd been dating for over a year.
He stays quiet for a moment, unwilling to break the silence and confirm his dad's questions.
"I'm just—I'm so sorry," his dad says.
Blaine can tell that he's started crying. It makes Blaine cry, too.
His sniffs and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.
"Thanks, Dad," he says, his voice a bit rough. There's an ache in the back of his throat the size of a golf ball, and he's trying not to let it show.
"I love you, Blaine. And I'm proud of you. And I'm sorry." His dad says. "I just... I need you to know that, okay?"
Blaine nods. "Yeah, yeah. I know that."
"Good. Because I never want you to doubt that. And I want you to know that I'm ashamed of who I was ten years ago, and five years ago. And I'm sorry I took so long to come around the curve. And I'm sorry for the pain I've caused you."
Blaine is steadily crying now, and he walks from the kitchen into the living room where he sits on the couch and buries his head in his free hand.
He knows his dad can hear him crying, but he can't stop.
"Okay?" His dad asks.
"Okay," Blaine says, snuffling again. "Okay, I'm okay. That was just, it was nice to hear."
They're quiet for a moment, the both of them collecting themselves and calming down.
"Thanks, Dad," Blaine says.
"I love you," his dad replies.
"I love you, too."
There's a brief pause, and it's filled with the light awkwardness of how do we end such a heavy conversation, but it passes quickly when his father says, "I'll talk to you soon, okay?"
"Yeah," Blaine says, at a loss for words, and feeling a bit numb. "Talk to you soon, dad."
They say goodbye, and Blaine hangs up first. He lightly tosses his phone on the coffee table in front of him, and then leans back against the couch, running his right hand through his hair before returning it to his forehead and leaving it there to rest.
He cries a bit more, but not heavily. He's letting out the remaining tears and trying to gauge how he feels right now, because it's a bit of a mix of emotions and it's making him feel unbalanced in a way that's not all that pleasant.
He's still leaning against the couch when Kurt walks in from his run. Blaine doesn't know how much time has passed, but when Kurt walks into the room Blaine looks up, and notices Kurt's rather startled look.
"Are you okay?" Kurt asks quickly.
Blaine nods a few times, sitting up so his back is straight.
"I think I need to be cuddled," he decides on.
Kurt walks over immediately and sits next to Blaine, wrapping his arms around Blaine and pulling him down so that he's spooning Blaine from behind on their small couch.
"I'm sorry I smell," Kurt says.
"You don't," Blaine says, but they both know that's not true.
"What happened?" Kurt asks.
"Nothing," Blaine responds without even thinking. "I mean—" he corrects himself, "—my dad called. And it was an emotional conversation."
"Is everything okay?" Kurt asks, giving Blaine an extra squeeze.
"Yeah," Blaine says. "He, uh... He apologized to me, about how he reacted when I came out."
"Really?"
Blaine nods, placing his hand on top of Kurt's and interlacing their fingers.
"He said he felt bad that he didn't hug me afterwards, or say I love you, and that he's sorry it took so long for him to accept me."
"Oh my god," Kurt says.
"Yeah," Blaine chuckles ruefully.
"I think I'm speechless," Kurt replies.
They're quiet for a moment.
"Are you—are you happy about it?" Kurt prods lightly.
"Yeah. I just, it caught me off guard, and he was crying, and I was crying, and it was so out of the blue. I just—it hit me really hard, that he was so open about his feelings."
Kurt nods, and Blaine can feel it from the way Kurt's nose ruffles the hair on the back of his head.
"So good tears?" Kurt asks.
"Overwhelmed tears," Blaine says. "Happy, too, I think. I'm just feeling a bit open and raw right now. And entirely not in the mood to cook dinner."
"I think this special occasion calls for take-out, cuddles, and a movie marathon that we pay no attention to because we're too busy cuddling."
"Yeah," Blaine says smiling quietly. "That sounds nice."
They stay on the couch for a few more minutes, Kurt making sure that Blaine feels comfortable and protected and loved. They separate eventually so that Kurt can shower and Blaine can order the food. But that night they eat take-out pho, which is never as good as when you eat it in the restaurant, but Blaine really felt that tonight was a soup kind of night, and Kurt obliged without any fuss. They eat sitting on the floor in front of the couch, their bowls on the coffee table, cuddling into each other while watching Because I Said So before going to bed early and cuddling some more.
Before he falls asleep, Blaine plugs his phone in, and notices a few notifications regarding emails and messages.
He sees his father's name at the top and clicks it.
There are no words in the text message he sent, just a picture.
A screenshot of an Amazon order being sent to his parents' house.
It's a rainbow flag magnet for the back of their car.