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It’s over.
They can’t go on, not a second longer, how was he so blind -
“Wait . . .” he says, slowly, afraid, taking his arm off of Kurt and crossing both of them across his chest. “You like pineapples . . . on your pizza?”
Kurt nods defiantly, copying Blaine’s position and snapping back, “Yes, is there a problem with that?”
He sticks his tongue out, making a face, and adds more distance between them on the floor where they’re both sitting. “Uh, yeah, they’re disgusting.”
“Peppers are disgusting, Blaine.”
“Um, guys,” Finn cuts in, sharing a confused look with Sam. “We kinda need an answer.”
Kurt’s idea of a date wasn’t what he had in mind, but they’re taking it slow, taking it day by day, just doing anything and everything together because they can now.
Being inside of Kurt’s house was scary at first, because he wasn’t sure what to expect. It’s lived in, homey, warm and comforting. Not as neat and new as his house, but he prefers that, doesn’t have to overworry about breaking anything or making the slightest mess.
He had to meet Finn’s mom before she left for work, who was nothing but smiles, and while that was terrifying, at least it wasn’t Kurt’s dad.
But now he’s considering just running out of here, because Kurt’s scarily defensive over pineapples, and he’s scarily defensive over peppers, so they’re not going to make it very far in this relationship if they can’t even agree on a pizza.
“Pineapple, Finn,” Kurt says, putting his arm across Blaine’s chest and pushing him back, leaning over him so he has a direct view of Finn. “Ignore whatever he says.”
“I’m the guest here,” he hisses, struggling to sit up with Kurt’s arm still holding him down. “Shouldn’t I get to pick?”
“Nope.”
Sam looks at them strangely, then leans over to Finn and asks, “Why can’t we just order an extra pizza?”
Finn says back, just as confused, “I don’t think that’s what matters . . .”
He finally sits up, turns to Kurt and grabs his face, leaning in to say as menacingly as possible, “Pineapple is not meant to go on pizza.”
Kurt stares back at him, bottom lip sticking out in a pout. “Then explain why it tastes so good.”
“It doesn’t. You’re insane.”
He really isn’t mad, not when Kurt looks so cute, and he can’t even pretend he’s mad when Kurt’s lips are right there, so he leans in closer, kisses him quickly, not feeling embarrassed even with Sam and Finn watching.
He kisses him again, just because he can, and starts to smile once he feels Kurt start to smile.
“We’re not putting peppers on our pizza,” Kurt whispers, arms still crossed defensively, lips right against Blaine’s.
If this weren’t Kurt’s house and they weren’t in Kurt’s living room and Kurt’s brother wasn’t sitting right there, maybe he’d do more than kiss him. Instead he just laughs, hangs his head down and sighs, “Fine. You win.”
Kurt bounces up, smile widening, and even though he hates losing, seeing Kurt smile like that melts away the annoyance.
Sam says slowly, still not following, “. . . and I’m pretty sure we can split the toppings . . ?”
There’s a sudden noise outside, the sound of a car pulling in, and Kurt goes tense, and Finn says excitedly, “Oh hey, Burt’s home! Guess we can order another pizza.”
Blaine’s hold on Kurt tightens, eyes widening, throat suddenly dry as he asks, “Burt?”
Kurt swallows, eyes just as wide as Blaine’s, and says back quietly, “My dad.”
He freezes. His heart freezes. His mind freezes.
“You - you never said -” is all he can get out, voice rasping and squeaking a little, feeling fear like he never has before.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Kurt says, putting his hands on top of Blaine’s, moving them away from his face and leaning in to kiss his cheek. “I’ve told him about you. It’ll be okay.”
It’s never even crossed his mind that he’d have to meet Kurt’s dad. Of course it should have come up in conversation, of course he should have thought about it, Kurt’s the most important person in his life right now, of course he’s going to have to meet his dad.
He knows he means something to Kurt, but that’s just Kurt, Kurt’s standards. His dad must have them raised a lot higher than he can reach, he’s Kurt’s dad.
He can’t even reach the standards of his own dad how is he supposed to -
Sam leans over from his spot on the couch and pats him on the shoulder. “It’s cool, Burt’s really nice. He’s been letting me stay here.”
“Easy for you guys to say!” he snaps, trying to stand up but Kurt grabs his arm and keeps him down. “You’re not about to get your ass handed to you.”
“Blaine, he’s going to love you,” Kurt says firmly, squeezing his hand.
“Yeah dude, you’re not that bad!”
He looks around frantically, knows he’s overreacting but there’s no escape from this situation and he can’t really handle that, not even with Kurt’s hand around his arm.
“You set me up!” he yelps, eyes accusing on Kurt, and then Finn and Sam.
Kurt’s hand travels down his arm until he’s holding his hand, joining them together and pulling them towards his chest.
“I’m sorry, but if I told you then you wouldn’t have said yes, and my dad said he had to meet you before we went any further.”
It makes sense. He wouldn’t have said yes, that’s for sure, but it would have been nice to get some sort of warning. But Kurt squeezes his hand, looks at him so pleadingly, smiles at him and kisses his cheek again and it doesn’t make the situation any easier, but it helps calm him.
But -
Shit. What if he disapproves? What if he says no? Then what?
Before he can protest any further, or think of any other reason as to why this shouldn’t be happening, the front door opens.
He takes a deep breath, forgets about his panic, and remembers his plan.
Kurt squeezes his hand once more, then stands up.
“Dad!” he says, overly excited, moving towards the front door. “Blaine’s here.”
He stands up only to slump down on the couch, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, briefly looking over his shoulder to where Kurt’s talking to his dad.
He’s not what Blaine expected, at all. There are facial similarities between the two, but that’s where it ends. Burt Hummel looks like - just another guy. Wearing flannel and a trucker cap and worn old jeans, while Kurt stands next to him looking like a magazine spread, perfect and sharp and unique.
It settles his nerves a bit.
“Hey,” he says, calmly, cooly, runs a hand back through his hair and then waves a little. “What’s up. I’m Blaine.”
He keeps breathing, tries to appear calm, even when Kurt’s dad looks at him, his glare burning right through Blaine's head.
“Burt,” Kurt’s dad says, voice gruff and rough and a lot deeper than Kurt’s.
“Cool.”
He hopes it’s that easy, but then Kurt clears his throat, and when he looks at him Kurt is glaring too.
“Oh, right, I should probably shake your hand or something.” Still remembering his private school manners, he gets up, goes towards them and sticks his hand out, doesn’t flinch or break when Burt shakes it.
“Kurt’s told me lots about you,” Burt says, and the handshake feels like it’s been going on for five minutes now but he knows it must only be seconds.
“Yeah, he never stops!” Finn yells from behind them.
“Finn!” Kurt spits out, turning to glare at his brother.
Burt’s eyes are hard and calculating, starting at Blaine’s feet and traveling up, and he suddenly wishes he wore his nice jeans, or a hoodie that didn’t have a rip in one sleeve.
“So you and Kurt are pretty serious?”
He drops Burt’s hand.
His eyes go wide, from Kurt back to Burt, and Kurt turns sharply to face his dad. “Dad, don’t start -”
He shrugs it off, doesn’t see the point in lying when the truth isn’t bad.
“I guess so. I’m still debating on that,” he says, smirking, reaching over to poke Kurt in the side. “He likes pineapple on his pizza, which is kind of a deal breaker for me.”
The way Kurt smiles back tells him his answer is far from wrong.
Burt laughs, and he doesn’t know Burt but hearing him laugh feels like something that wouldn't usually happen.
“You’re gonna be ordering two separate pizzas for the rest of your life,” Burt says, clapping him across the back. “Get used to it.”
-
There’s no pressure to be perfect, which he had expected for some reason. Finn won’t stop burping and Sam accidentally knocked Burt’s pizza onto the floor, so he thinks he’s doing just fine in terms of making a good impression. And Burt likes peppers too, so in the end he sort of got his way.
Plus, Kurt hasn’t left his side, so he can’t really be nervous, can’t really actually care about anything else.
“Come on, Kurt,” he says, holding a pepper up to Kurt’s face. “Just try it.”
Kurt grimaces, wrapping his fingers around Blaine’s wrist and pushing him back. “Blaine, quit it!”
“Try it!”
Kurt turns away from him and gags dramatically. “You can forget all about your goodnight kiss!”
His laugh fades away into a sigh, and he pulls the pepper away from Kurt’s face. “Can I have a kiss now then?”
There’s a loud cough from behind them, and they both spin around quickly, Blaine feeling his face shade over red once he realizes Kurt’s entire family was watching and listening. Not that he cares, but still.
Burt sits on a reclining chair, smiling, but not in the way that says he’s happy.
On the floor underneath the coffee table, he searches for Kurt’s hand, and Kurt is quick to find him.
“So Blaine, Kurt here is probably going to kill me but I don’t see the harm in asking a few questions,” Burt says, and Blaine knows he doesn’t actually sound conniving and murderous, but that’s the way it translates in his brain. “If that’s alright with you.”
His heart beats a bit heavily, but he ignores it and nods. “Sure, go for it.”
“Good,” Burt says, rocking back in his chair, smile no longer looking so menacing. “Nothing scary, I promise.”
“Cool.”
“Whereabouts are you from? Kurt’s never mentioned it.”
He uses his free hand to pick up his pizza, taking a bite and responding with his mouth full, “Ohio.”
“Oh? Like where?”
“Everywhere Ohio,” he says, not seeing anything wrong with it, but then Kurt’s jabs at him with his elbow, and Blaine gives him a quick, helpless look, then turns back to Burt and shrugs. “No really, I was everywhere. My parents got divorced when I was really young, so I’ve been bouncing back between houses and schools. But if you wanna get specific, then Westerville.”
Burt nods, not looking impressed or unimpressed. “What do your parents do?”
He’s never been interrogated like this before, but he doesn’t squirm or feel uncomfortable, because it almost feels like Burt actually cares, which is -
Which is weird.
“Dad’s a lawyer,” he says, takes another bite and swallows. “Mom’s a real estate agent. You’ve probably seen her face on a bus bench.”
Sam cuts in and asks, “Is she the hot one?”
Burt leans back in his chair and whistles. “Fancy.”
“Yeah, so the bar is raised pretty high.”
Kurt’s grip around his hand tightens, so he squeezes back and gives him a brief smile, to let him know it’s alright.
Burt Hummel really isn’t that scary.
“Do you wanna be a performer like Kurt?”
Blaine laughs, shakes his head and says, “Nah, I’ll leave that to the pros.”
“Kurt just found out he’s a finalist for that NYADA school,” Burt says, pointing at Kurt, and Blaine can immediately identify the pride in his voice. “Been up all night practicing in his room for his audition, but we can’t exactly soundproof his walls anymore.”
“Dad!”
That goes over his head, forehead scrunching up as he turns to Kurt, frowning a bit. “What’s NYADA?”
Kurt looks away from his dad, face red from the roots of his hair down to his chin, and sighs heavily, then smiles, a little shyly. “It’s a performing arts school in New York. I’m sorry I haven’t mentioned it yet.”
“Don’t be,” he says, frown disintegrating when he smiles, putting his pizza down so he can wrap an arm around Kurt’s waist and pull him closer. “That’s crazy, Kurt. You’re gonna kill it.”
Kurt turns red again, but not from embarrassment, and ducks his head, looking so - adorable that Blaine has to lean forward, has to kiss him, even though his lips taste like pineapple, even though he hates pineapple.
Because he loves Kurt.
He can feel the awkward stares of Kurt’s dad, of Sam and Finn, but he ignores them, doesn’t even have to try, he really just doesn’t care.
-
The rest of the night isn’t that bad.
The barrage of questions ends after he tells Burt more about his family, his old school, and once they get onto the topic of curfews and boundaries, Kurt changes the conversation by turning on the TV. So they all watch some sort of game show, and it’s kind of nice, kind of almost feels like a family. A family that he in no way plays a part of, a family that’s already pretty mixed up, but still, a family.
It’s something he could maybe get used to.
If Kurt's dad likes him, that is.
He’s respectful. He lays his legs out over Kurt’s lap as they sit on the other couch together, but that’s about as much as he touches him. He’s afraid if he kisses Kurt too much or touches him too much then Kurt’s dad won’t let him come over, won’t let him see Kurt, might put a stop to them or something terrifying like that.
So once they’re alone outside together, standing by his car and ready to say goodnight, he kisses Kurt, hard. Putting his arms around his waist and pulling him in, chest to chest, not really wanting to say goodnight, not really wanting to leave him.
Kurt wraps his arms around his neck, pulls his face back a little but doesn’t go far, and whispers, “I hope that was okay.”
Mind reeling, turned upside, he tries to think, tries to process Kurt’s words.
“What?”
Kurt looks away, nodding towards the house. “I should have told you.”
“Nah,” he says, giving Kurt a helpless shrug. “Wouldn’t have done it any other way.”
“I know, but I mean -” Kurt drops his arms, crosses them over his chest and leans against the hood of Blaine’s car. “I don’t even know if we’re - if we’re boyfriends, you haven’t said -”
The tone of Kurt’s voice turns sour, sad, and the sudden overwhelming urge to fix it hits Blaine in the chest.
“Hey.”
He grabs Kurt’s arm, gently, tugs at him until he stops crossing them, finds his hand and holds it. This he has thought about actually, because he knows what he feels for Kurt, and he won’t deny that, and the word boyfriend feels so inexplicably right that it makes his chest feel tight and warm and makes him want to never stop smiling, so that must be it, that’s gotta be it.
“What else would we be?”
Kurt looks away and swings their hands a little. “I - I don’t know . . . thank you.”
“Nothing to thank me for,” he says, a bit teasingly. “Just lots to apologize for. I almost pissed myself like ten times tonight.”
“Sorry,” Kurt immediately says back, letting out a laugh as he tips his head down. “My dad’s never been in this position before, he doesn’t know what overbearing means.”
“Yeah, but does he like me? Or should I start sneaking through your bedroom window from now on?”
“I think he does. It seems that way. If he came across as rude it was only to see if -”
His throat suddenly hurts, heart sinking. “If I was good enough for you?”
“No.” Kurt gets off the car, stands in front of Blaine and grabs hold of his hoodie, scrunching it up in one hand and pulling him forward. “I’ve already told him he doesn’t get to decide that. I think he was trying to see if you’d be . . . permanent.”
The word scares him. Nothing is permanent. Nothing in his life has ever stayed permanent.
And it scares him, because in a way, if he just stops thinking and feels it, this sort of does. This, them, together . . . feels like it could be.
“I plan to be.”
Kurt laughs again, Blaine’s favourite sound in the whole word, then looks up at him and asks, “Even though I like pineapples?”
He makes a considering face and hums a little while thinking, then finally says, “I think that’s something I can work with.”
When he kisses Kurt again, he feels a new kind of thrill down his spine, like fire that burns but doesn’t hurt. He’s kissing his boyfriend.
How is it that kissing Kurt feels brand new, but also like he’s done it a thousand times? When they kiss he doesn’t want it to end, because every second that passes it’s like this feeling of I know this, of chasing that familiarity, but at the same time it’s like what is this?
He never wants to actually find out.
Kurt breaks it to lean his forehead against Blaine’s, and says, a bit gravelly, “He’s probably watching us right now.”
He groans, throws his head back and sighs. “For once I’m actually glad my parents don’t give a shit about me.”
Kurt tugs his hoodie again, pulls him closer for one last peck against the lips, and with hope in his voice, he asks, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
He trails a hand down Kurt’s side, hesitates for a moment, then reluctantly lets go.
“Yeah, see you tomorrow.”
And every day after that?
Hopefully.