Chapter Text
Burt and Carole are coming. Blaine’s been in the middle of a flare all week, but they’re still coming. Kurt’s opening night is Friday, and they’re coming to see him perform. So, Blaine’s been doing his best to clean the house, make extra food, go shopping, and do all the things he used to do to his standards before he got fibro. It’s so much harder now than it ever used to be, though, especially when he’s in the middle of a flare. Sweeping the floor wipes him out for at least an hour. His arm throbs after three swipes with the vacuum cleaner. Going to the store means resting for several hours afterward, and he can’t even carry in the grocery bags; he has to have Kurt do it. Just getting out of bed in the mornings is a chore, and he hardly ever gets started on anything before 10 o’clock anymore. He sighs as he glances at the clock on the stove. He still needs to start dinner, but he feels dead on his feet. All he really wants to do is crawl back into bed and sleep until Burt and Carole have gone home. Maybe, if he could do that, for once, he’d wake up refreshed. It’s not likely, though.
This isn’t the first time Burt and Carole have come to visit since Blaine got fibro, but it’s the first time they’ll see him in the middle of a flare. When he noticed the first signs cropping up on Sunday, he was sure that if he took care of himself, took it easy, took his meds, and just relaxed for a day or two that the flare would be over before they came. But now, it’s Thursday, and he still feels as bad as ever; so, he knows that’s not going to happen. It’s probably stress, he laments. Stress always makes his fibro symptoms worse. Kurt will be home from his final rehearsal late, so it’s up to Blaine to entertain Burt and Carole until he gets home which just makes the ache at the back of his skull throb even more. And, it’s not that he doesn’t love his in-laws, because he truly does. It’s just that everything is harder during a flare, and he just hopes he has the energy to do this.
Blaine’s phone tings, indicating he’s got a text message. Slowly, he limps towards his phone. It’s from Carole. When he opens it, he sighs, his pain seeming to intensify in that exact moment. Carole’s sent him a picture of them at the airport, collecting their baggage. Finn’s with them; he’s completely forgotten that Finn was coming, too. Great . There’s a text with the picture. “We just landed! See you in half an hour! :)”
Perfect. Not! He’s barely going to have dinner started before they walk in the door, and standing feels like a cruel and unusual punishment right now. He’s not going to do it. Maybe he can convince his in-laws to order pizza for dinner. He just can’t cook right now. Leaning back against the couch, Blaine allows his eyes to shut for just a merciful few seconds. Surprisingly, this does make the ache at the back of his head feel better. Marginally.
When he opens his eyes again, it’s to the sounds of knocking at the front door. Did I actually manage to fall asleep? he asks himself as he groggily rubs at his eyes.
The knocking comes again, a little more insistent.
“Coming!” he calls, forcing himself up from the couch faster than he wants to. The ache has intensified while he was asleep. Walking is hard. Blinking is hard. Breathing is hard. When he finally makes it to the door, he pauses for a moment, trying to school his features. The Hudson-Hummels know about his fibro, but they don’t really know how much it affects him. From what he’s read, he’s dreaming if he thinks anyone besides maybe Kurt will ever understand. And, if he’s being honest, he really doesn’t want them to know how much it affects him. The last thing he wants is to be pitied.
Once he’s sure that he’s wiped most of the traces of a grimace off of his face, he pulls the door open and is surprised to find not his in-laws but his husband on the other side of the door. “Kurt?” he asks, completely confused, stepping aside so Kurt can enter. “I thought you had a late rehearsal.”
“I begged off,” Kurt says, coming inside and letting his duffel bag fall to the floor with a relieved sigh. “I told Miriam and Will that we’d been practicing all day, and my family was coming to town; they agreed I needed my vocal rest.” He smiles, pulling Blaine into a light embrace, careful not to press on him too hard. “How are you?” he asks.
“I’ve been better,” Blaine mumbles into his chest.
“I’m sorry I made you get the door. I must have dropped my keys in my duffel bag somewhere; they weren’t in my pocket like I thought they would be.” He steps back, grabbing up his bag again. “I’m just going to go change and see if I can’t get some of this stage makeup off before Dad and Carole show up. They should be here soon; Carole sent a picture of them at the baggage claim.”
“Yeah. I got that, too,” Blaine says, shuffling slowly toward the couch. “I forgot that Finn was coming, too.”
Kurt nods. “What did you get started for dinner?” he asks, pausing at the entrance to the hallway.
Blaine lowers his gaze, staring pointedly at a loose carpet thread. “I didn’t,” he mumbles, feeling tears begin to spring into his eyes. “I sat down on the couch to look at Carole’s text, and I fell asleep.” He feels one large, hot tear begin to slide down his cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m worthless today…”
“Hey,” Kurt whispers, dropping his bag again to kneel beside Blaine’s seated form. “You’re not worthless.” He tilts Blaine’s chin up until they’re making eye contact. “Be honest,” Kurt says. “How many breaks have you taken today?”
Shrugging, Blaine answers, “I’ve done a lot of sitting, but I was still trying to do stuff.”
“And, have you had enough water?”
Blaine shakes his head.
“Come with me,” Kurt tells him, standing and holding out a hand to his husband. He gently helps Blaine up off the couch and escorts him to their bedroom. “I want you to lay down for a little while with the heating pad. How’s your head?” he asks as he flicks on the bedroom light.
“‘S okay,” Blaine admits. “The back of my neck is pretty sore, though. But Kurt, I can’t lay down. Burt, Carole, and Finn will be here any minute.”
“You can lay down,” Kurt says, pulling back the blanket and helping Blaine in. “I can entertain them for a while. You need your rest.”
“They’re going to think something’s wrong with me…”
“Shh,” Kurt replies, leaning over to press a kiss to his husband’s lips. “You need to take care of yourself. That’s the most important thing. I can handle my family.” Kurt turns, shuffling around under Blaine’s nightside stand for a moment, finally producing a large heating pad. Plugging it in, he hands the pad off to Blaine before opening the drawer and grabbing out a bottle of peppermint oil. “Let me put some of this on the back of your neck,” he says, waiting until Blaine has rolled himself onto his side to swipe some of the immediately cool liquid across the nape of Blaine’s neck. “Just rest until dinner comes. I’m thinking pizza.”
Blaine nods, sniffling. “You’re so good to me, Kurt,” he whispers, raising a hand to swipe some of the tears off of his cheeks. “I love you so much.”
“I love you, too,” Kurt replies, leaning over to kiss away a few of Blaine’s tears. “Now, no more crying. I’ve got everything under control.”
“Okay,” Blaine whispers.
Quickly, Kurt changes and, with a final kiss to Blaine’s lips, steps out into the living room. He straightens the pillows that got mussed in Blaine’s attempts to get up, and he cleans a few pens and pencils Blaine had been using off of the table. Then, he pads into the kitchen to get a pizza menu. “May as well go ahead and order,” he mumbles to himself, calling the restaurant. He orders three large pizzas and a large order of cinnamon breadsticks. Just as he’s hanging up, there’s pounding on the front door. “Coming!” he calls, hurrying to open the door for his parents.
Almost immediately, Kurt is tackled by Finn. “It’s good to see you, bro!” the other man enthuses, slapping Kurt’s back just a little too hard for his liking. “Where’s Blaine? I wanna give him a big bear hug!”
“Blaine’s resting right now,” Kurt explains, stepping back from the door so Burt and Carole can come in, too.
“Why isn’t he out here?” Finn asks, his brow furrowing in confusion. He takes a deep breath. “BLA—”
Kurt slaps a hand over his mouth, cutting off his yell. “You will not call for him,” Kurt hisses. “He’s resting because he’s been working himself to the bone in the middle of a flare, and he’s in so much pain he was crying! Keep. Your. Mouth. Shut.”
Finn frowns. “Flare? I don’t understand that.”
“We talked about this, Finn,” Carole interrupts. “That means that Blaine’s having extra pain, remember?”
“I guess,” Finn admits. “I don’t really get this fibro thing… Are you sure it’s real?”
Kurt can’t do anything but open and shut his mouth a few times. He can feel the anger coursing through his body, and more than anything, he’d like to slap Finn right in the face for asking such a stupid thing. Thankfully, Carole saves him again.
“Fibromyalgia is a very real, very painful thing, Finn, and while we’re here, I expect you to be nothing but nice and respectful to Blaine.”
Burt speaks for the first time, and no one expects what comes out of his mouth. “You know, if our coming is too stressful for him, we can stay somewhere else. We don’t have to stay with you.”
“Dad, that’s not necessary,” Kurt assures them. “He’s—” He cuts off, feeling completely unprepared to talk about this. It’s not that he can’t; he just doesn’t like to speak for Blaine. Sometimes, though, he needs to for Blaine’s own sake. His husband is far too quick to brush off his condition as unimportant, and Kurt firmly believes that his pain is far too important to not be given the correct respect. “Why don’t I show you where you’ll be sleeping, and you can put your suitcases away? I ordered pizza delivery, and we can talk about this until the pizza shows up. I… I really want you guys to understand.”
“Sounds good, honey,” Carole says, patting his shoulder comfortingly.
“Follow me,” Kurt instructs, leading them down the hallway. He stops at the first bedroom on the right. “Dad, Carole, this will be your room.”
“Thanks,” his dad answers, sliding into the room. “We’ll just unpack a little bit, and then we’ll come back out to talk.”
Kurt flashes his father a thumbs up and continues on down the hallway, past his and Blaine’s door on the left to the second bedroom on the right. “This is your room, Finn,” he says. Then, he points toward his own bedroom door. “This is where Blaine and I sleep, and you’ll keep your voice down and not bother Blaine while he’s resting,” he instructs, waiting until he gets a nod from his brother before walking away. “Come back out quickly,” he calls back over his shoulder.
About five minutes later, everyone is seated in the living room, and Kurt’s pacing back and forth, trying to come up with the words to say. He wants to take some of the pressure off of Blaine by explaining to everyone what he’s going through, but he’s not sure the best way to do this. Blaine would know , he laments. He’s the one that’s good with words.
Taking a deep breath, Kurt finally says. “Look. Blaine’s been in the middle of a flare for the past four or so days. He won’t admit it all the time, but it’s been pretty bad lately. It’s probably, mostly from stress.” He raises his hands to stop his dad from talking like he can see he’s about to. “A lot of it is self-imposed stress, Dad. He wanted things to be nice and up to his standards for your visit. We both know you don’t expect perfection, but you know Blaine; he still has to try. He still feels like he has something to prove, and he probably always will.”
“You’re sure it’s not too much for him, though?” Burt asks anyway. “I don’t want the poor kid to be sobbing because we’re coming.”
“It’s really not you. The same thing happens when we go out somewhere. He wants everything to be perfect.”
Finn frowns again. “So, why does he have this…fibro…thing and I don’t? Will you get it? Is it genetic?”
“Honestly, no one knows why you get fibro,” Kurt says, looking at Carole. “Medically, that’s right, right?”
Carole nods. “Yes. The causes aren’t known. There are supposed reasons like psychological stress or severe abuse, but no doctor has been able to come up with a definitive way to predict if someone will or will not get fibro.”
Kurt smiles at her, thanking his lucky stars that Carole is a damn good nurse who takes her job seriously. She’s been a blessing to him on more than one occasion during this journey with Blaine, and Kurt knows he’ll never stop being appreciative of all that she knows.
“Right. So, we think that Blaine’s stressor was psychological, a response to me being gone on tour.”
“So, he just like… hurts sometimes?” Finn asks. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“That’s part of the problem, Finn,” Kurt sighs, trying desperately to keep the irritation out of his voice. “A lot of people believe things about fibro that are completely incorrect. It’s not just pain sometimes. It’s pain all day, every day. It never ever stops.”
“Sounds terrible,” Finn mutters, staring at the carpet.
“It is,” Kurt agrees.
“And, people ask that all the time? Like, to Blaine? When he’s there?”
“Yes. That and a lot of other things. They ask him if he exercises enough or drinks enough water. They think that if he would just do simple things like that, he’d be cured of his fibro.”
“And that’s wrong?” Finn asks, still not making eye contact with his brother.
“Yes. He’s never going to be cured, Finn. There are things that can make him feel better sometimes, but he’s always going to have this…” Kurt’s almost tearing up just saying those words. He knows Blaine still struggles with it. Some days, he can accept it, but others, he cries for hours, not knowing how he can possibly live one more day knowing that each day will just be an eternal, painful repeat. He’s working on it with his therapist, but some days are still hard.
“That sucks…”
“Yeah,” Kurt says, chuckling lightly and wiping at his eyes.
“And, Kurt, how are you holding up through all this?” Carole asks. “You’re taking care of him a lot. Are you getting what you need, too?”
“I love Blaine more than anything in the entire world,” Kurt says, stopping his pacing to look Carole in the eyes. “I don’t mind taking care of him. It’s really the least I can do. He still does so much around here, so much more than I’d be able to do if I had all that pain that never went away.”
“Just make sure you’re taking care of you, too,” Carole said. “Every good nurse needs that.” She smiles good-naturedly at him, winning a smile back.
“So, when do we get to see Blaine?” Finn asked. “I wanna give him a hug.”
“I’m going to go get him when the pizza gets here,” Kurt says. “And, you can hug him, but you have to be careful. Don’t squeeze him too hard. That will hurt him more.”
“Okay.” Finn nods resolutely, and for a moment there’s silence. Then, he says, “Can we talk about something happier now? All this is making me feel depressed.”
“Sure,” Kurt agrees, taking a seat beside his brother. “So, Dad. How are things at the tire shop?”
The Hudson-Hummels make pleasant conversation until there’s a knock on the door, signaling that the pizza has arrived. After paying for it and pulling out paper plates, Kurt says, “Go ahead and get some. We can just eat in the living room tonight, that way Blaine has somewhere comfortable to sit. I’m going to go get him.” Then, he takes off down the hallway. When he enters the bedroom, he sees Blaine wrapped in a blanket on the bed, lying on his side, the heating pad wrapped around his shoulders. He’s typing something on his phone, tears streaming down his face. “Oh, honey…” Kurt says, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Blaine mumbles, stopping his typing to wipe at his eyes. “I’m just…I’m just writing a poem.”
“That’s making you cry?” Kurt asks softly.
Blaine nods. “Do you want to read it? It’s basically done.”
“Yeah,” Kurt agrees, taking the phone from his still sniffling husband. His eyes scan quickly over the words.
“ Dear fibromyalgia,
FUCK YOU!
I hate you.
I hate what you’ve done to me.
I hate what you’ve done to my life.
I hate that I can’t sit or stand or lay down comfortably anymore.
I hate that my skin is disgusting. It’s painful and bumpy, and I almost never want anyone to touch me.
I hate that my hair falls out.
I hate that I can’t remember anything.
I hate that I can’t remember simple, elementary words.
I hate that I can’t remember names.
I hate that I can barely write some days.
I hate that it hurts to be hugged.
I hate that it’s too much work to take a shower, get food, or get out of bed some days.
I hate that you stole the things I love to do.
I hate that I can’t write some days because my fingers hurt too much to move them.
I hate that I no longer want to travel the world because leaving the house is so hard.
I hate that I no longer want my family to visit me.
I hate that I no longer want to go back to where I grew up.
I hate that I can’t go to the grocery store without needing a three-hour nap.
I hate that I can’t clean the house because I can barely bend over.
I hate that walking hurts.
I hate that I’m afraid to have a family or be who I’ve always wanted to be.
I hate that I can’t even be physically intimate with my husband when I want to be.
But more than that…
I hate that you’ve stolen my life.
I hate that you make me feel worthless.
I hate that you make me feel stupid.
I hate that you make me feel depressed.
I hate that you make me feel anxious.
I hate that you’ve taken so much from me that I no longer feel like me.
I hate you.
I hate you more than anything I’ve ever hated in my life.
Dear fibromyalgia,
FUCK YOU!
Now Kurt’s sniffling, too, and he wipes away a few tears from his face as he carefully hands Blaine his phone back. “I’m so sorry, my love. I’m so, so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Blaine says, patting gently at Kurt’s knee. “It’s not your fault. You know that. I’ve told you.”
“Sometimes it still feels like it,” Kurt admits softly. “I was the one who left. I was the one who was gone and too busy to talk to you when you needed me.”
“Kurt,” Blaine says more intently this time. He struggles to sit up more so he can take his husband’s hand into his own. “This. Is. Not. Your. Fault. I promise. I don’t blame you, and neither should you. This is no one’s fault; it’s just something that happened, and as much as we hate it, there’s nothing we can do to change it.”
“It just kills me to see you hurting like this,” Kurt says quietly. “To know that you’re always in pain, even when you’re feeling better and being your normal, goofy self. I just…”
“I’m okay,” Blaine reassures him. “I mean, as okay as I can be.”
Kurt chuckles softly, leaning in to press a tender kiss to his husband’s lips. “Are you hungry?”
Blaine nods. “I didn’t have lunch,” he admits quietly.
“Well, we’d better get out there,” Kurt says. “Finn’s already got his food, and all three of the pizzas I ordered will be gone if we don’t get out there soon.”
Blaine laughs at that. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
Together, Kurt and Blaine slowly make their way to the kitchen, and Kurt fixes himself and Blaine plates while Blaine rests in a chair at the dining room table. Then, Kurt helps him up and back into the living room, getting him seated in the recliner with his legs up and a heating pad spread across his knees before he sits down to eat his own pizza. They all eat in silence for a few moments, all of them engrossed in their food.
Since Finn is the first to finish his plate, he’s the first to speak. “Blaine, I’m sorry people are so rude to you,” he says, not looking at his brother-in-law.
Blaine gives him a funny look. “Um, it’s okay? I think…”
“I want to give you a hug,” Finn explains.
He looks like he’s about to get up, so Blaine quickly asks, “Can I finish my pizza first? Then, you can give me that hug.”
“Sure!” Finn says, and everyone laughs.
The rest of the evening is pleasant. They play a few board games together, and no one comments when Blaine winces as he leans forward or changes positions. No one questions that Kurt brings him several glasses of water, some ibuprofen, some peppermint oil, and moves the heating pad around for him.
Finally, around 11, Carole announces that she’s tired. “I want to go to bed, don’t you, dear?” she asks her husband, looking at him meaningfully.
“Yeah. I’m beat. Long flight,” he says, pushing himself up from the floor. “Finn, boys, you off to bed, too?” he asks.
“We are,” Kurt says. “Finn, you’re welcome to stay up and watch TV if you’re not tired yet.”
“Um…I—Blaine, can I—could I get that hug now?”
“Sure,” Blaine answers. Once Kurt’s helped him up, he opens his arms for his brother-in-law.
Carefully, Finn wraps his arms around Blaine’s middle, being sure not to really squeeze or touch him.
“It’s okay to use a little pressure, Finn,” Blaine says as he slowly wraps his arms around the other man. “Don’t worry. You won’t break me.”
“But Kurt said—”
“It’s okay. I promise,” Blaine reassures him. “Just a little.”
“Okay,” Finn says, looping his arms a little tighter around Blaine.
“That’s perfect,” Blaine says, patting Finn’s back awkwardly a few times. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Finn says, backing off. “Okay. I’m going to bed now. Good night.” He gave his brother and brother-in-law a small wave and then headed off down the hallway to his room.
“Ready for bed?” Kurt asks, turning to his husband.”
“Yeah. I’m exhausted,” Blaine admits. “Can you get the lights if I go lay down?”
“Of course,” Kurt says, giving him a quick kiss to the lips. “I’ll be in in a moment.” When he arrives in their bedroom a few minutes later, Blaine is already under the blankets again.
“What did you tell them earlier?” he asks, rubbing some cream designed to help with the rash on his arms into his skin.
“We just talked a little about fibro and how it affects you,” Kurt says with a shrug, dressing down to his boxers. “Finn didn’t really know much, so I told him a little bit about it.”
“Did you tell him I’d break if he touched me?” Blaine questions.
“No. I just told him to be careful.”
“Well, thank you,” Blaine says, smiling at his husband. “You’re amazing.”
Kurt doesn’t reply to that. Instead, he says, “I feel bad that you did so much this week to get ready for my family to come. I hardly helped you at all.”
“You were busy,” Blaine says with a tiny shrug. “I just did what needed to be done while you were at rehearsals. You did a lot, too, once you got home.” He sighs, putting the lotion away. “Honestly, with all the breaks I take, I end up barely doing anything. It makes me feel lazy.”
“You are not lazy,” Kurt says. “You’re wonderful, so handsome and perfect, and I love you so, so much.” Leaning over, he switches off the lamp, settling down on his back. “Come snuggle with me, handsome,” he says once he’s settled. “I’ve missed my perfect man so much.”
“I’m far from perfect,” Blane protests into the dark, moving to cuddle against Kurt, his head on his chest, even as he says this.
“Well, you’re perfect to me,” Kurt replies, wrapping an arm lightly around him.
Blaine gives him a quick peck on the chest. “I love you so much. Thanks for taking such good care of me,” he whispers.
“I’ll always take care of you,” Kurt reassures. “I love you, too. So much.”
It doesn’t take long for Kurt to fall asleep, snoring gently. Blaine smiles as he lays there, still awake. He’ll never tell Kurt that he snores, but he loves listening to it at night. It’s soothing, like a sleeping soundtrack made just for him. He gently traces a finger down Kurt’s chest to his perfect abs and back up, willing himself to focus on Kurt’s breathing and heartbeat in his ear. It takes a while, almost an entire hour, but finally, Blaine slips into a light sleep, thinking about how much he adores the man who is currently his pillow. More than anything in the world , he thinks as he drifts off. So, so much.