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Connection (2/5 + Epilogue)

Glee: Slo-Mo
Title: Connection
Author: devonwood
Word Count: 35,100
Rating: R
Warnings: Sex. Mentions of homophobia, off-screen violence, and sexual assault relating to canon events between Kurt and Karofsky in NBK, as well as Blaine at Sadie Hawkins.

The full header and links to other chapters can be found in the Masterpost.
Chapter Two

partfalseparttrue

Fic Rec!

The birds were chirping, the sun was shining, and this boy was wide awake on a Sunday morning because his neighbor decided to mow the lawn at eight o'clock. Sleep deprived and cranky, I decided to finally read "On the Other End" (I know, I know-- I'm late to the party) to put me in a better mood.

While this fic started off as a Sing Kink Meme prompt, it is not just a mindless sex romp fulfilling all the bullet points and bonus ideas on the list (though there is nothing wrong with those, either!). The author obviously put a lot of thought and care into crafting the journey of Chase and Devon into a more intimate relationship, creating a slow burn that brings the reader right along with the copious, delicious, squirm-inducing sexual tension.

If you don't already know the gist of "On the Other End" (and have you been living under a rock?), Chase and Devon navigate taking the next step in their relationship by eliminating physical contact to overcome their fears of intimacy. In short: our favorite boys fumble and sext and stutter their way through doing the dirty. But like I said, it's not just an excuse for a porn spree that happens to press all my buttons. Chase and Devon really feel like the characters we see on Sing, though we won't get scenes like the ones in this fic unless the show moves to HBO. The dialogue is great, the sex is equal parts hot and adorably embarrassing, and the ending is so sweet you'll want to kick your feet in joy.

If you have the time (and no one reading over your shoulder), you should definitely check out "On the Other End," as well as the other works in the author's masterlist. If the lawn mower doesn't quit soon, I know how I'm spending my Sunday.

#fic rec #chevon for your bls

2 Notes Reblog [Heart]

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sparklingtheaterofexcess

I try my damnedest to keep my fandom and real lives separate, but that iPhone case patterned like Chase's plaid blazer from season three is giving me life right now.

#someday I will be able to afford Chase's clothes #someday #sing for your bls

1 Note Reblog [Heart]
partfalseparttrue said: I just bought the one with Devon's DarkBird costume. Resistance is futile.

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partfalseparttrue





Anonymous asked:

how can you keep shipping chevon? i can't stand devon now that he's a cheater.





I think it's important to remember, Anon, that Devon is a complex, multifaceted character who endures regular human struggles and has human emotions...who also cheated on his boyfriend. He is more than just a cheater. Does that mean I "forgive" the character for cheating? No. It's not my place to make excuses for his actions, even if I try to explain around them in my own fanworks. The cheating may be out of character, in my biased Devon-stan opinion, but it happened and now I want to figure out why it happened. Am I sad this storyline has been picked up when all I wanted this season were the trials and tribulations of Chase and Devon sharing a fifth floor walk-up in Chelsea with a pet cat? Yes. But I'm still behind the two boys who fell in love on a staircase, who messed up, who messed up again, and who now need to find their way back to each other.

I hope that answered your question, Anon.

#chevon feels #thinking about a season two re-watch during the hiatus #who's with me?

15 notes   Reblog   [Heart]

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Satisfied with his answer, Blaine closes the Tumblr tab on his browser, resists the knee-jerk reaction to immediately open another one, and focuses again on the second chapter Kurt had finished last night. He wants to keep reading along as Kurt types, which has swiftly become a bad habit over the last two days, but Kurt had said brb, my step-brother is complaining about lunch, or the lack thereof in the chat twenty minutes ago and then disappeared.

Blaine scrolls up to where he'd left off earlier and takes a moment to crack his knuckles before beginning. He reads a few paragraphs at a time before going back to leave a comment, now that he sees the direction Kurt is trying to go. This is the part of editing he enjoys. Sure, he likes picking apart grammatical errors and looking for their/they're/there mistakes, but Blaine loves shaping the author's vision, pulling the inspiration and ideas out where they might be hiding behind clunky construction and unnecessary details. It's like the scene in Ghost with the potter's wheel, where Blaine is Patrick Swayze, guiding Kurt-as-Demi-Moore through the process of creating art-- though without the shirtlessness and weird sexual overtones.

Although Kurt could be shirtless, for all Blaine knows. Blaine could be shirtless, too, except that it's past noon and he still hasn't changed out of his pajamas or applied a second coat of hair gel.





Chase slams his fists down on the desk, causing his stress ball to bounce and roll sadly to the floor next to his feet. (Blaine 12:27 PM: Slamming one’s fists is a pretty cliche description. Maybe think of something else to show Chase’s anger, something unique to his character?) He whirls in his spinny chair, pressing two fingers into the earpiece of his headset, as if that will make the customer service representative understand him more clearly.

“This is an emergency,” he says, enunciating his consonants. “I know I’m scheduled to leave in three days, but I need on the next flight to Columbus, which, according to your website, leaves at eight o’clock tonight.”

“Sir,” the lady begins,
(Blaine 12:29 PM: Don’t use a said bookism here. If she’s not getting cut off by Chase, you can just use ‘says’. Really, 95% of the time you can just use ‘says’. It doesn’t get boring for the reader, I promise.) “while your father’s appointment with his oncologist is an important and scary time for you, if he is not actually dying, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do to reschedule your flight.”

But he
is dying, Chase thinks. His father is slipping through his fingertips, and one day Chase is going to reach for his hand and grasp at empty air.(Blaine 12:29 PM: I like this concept, but elaborate a bit more. You have room and pacing here for some really lovely closeness into Chase’s state of mind and how he views this event. Explore it.)

He sighs, running a hand through his hair and messing up the perfect coif he’d styled that morning. “Fine,” he says. “When’s your next open flight?”

There’s tapping on the other end for a moment. “Nine-thirty tomorrow morning, sir,” she says. “It’s a middle seat, row three. Would you like me to book it for you?”

He won’t make it to Columbus until after his father’s appointment, and Chase hates being squashed on an airplane between two unfamiliar people without any room to stretch his legs, but Chase supposes that’s the best he’s going to get. “Let me get my credit card,” he says, reaching into his wallet with one hand while typing a hasty email to his boss with the other.
(Blaine 12:33 PM: That is a lot of action happening at once. Can a person really type an email with one hand and effectively get out his wallet with the other? I just tried and had to re-type this message a couple times because of typos.) (Kurt 12:33 PM: Maybe you’re just bad at it.) (Kurt 12:34 PM: Sorry, that was rude. I’ll fix it.) (Blaine 12:34 PM: Just because I suggest an edit doesn’t mean you have to stick to it, Kurt, if you really don’t want to.)(Kurt 12:34 PM: I know.)





Blaine waits for another response, but it never comes. And Kurt doesn’t seem to be typing any more into the document, nor using the chat function. Kurt’s cursor hovers at the end of that paragraph without change. Blaine gives it ten minutes, popping over to another tab to check Facebook and leave a comment on one of Thad’s pictures from the pool party at his house last weekend, before he opens Tumblr to see if Kurt got distracted looking up scarves for Fashion of Sing again.

-

sparklingtheaterofexcess

Ah yes, how could I be so blind? Chase scratching his nose lightly at the end of Devon’s emotional acoustic solo definitely means that his master plan of making Devon cheat was successful and now he can continue twirling his moustache and cackling into the sunset as the Worst Boyfriend Ever.

#this fandom I s2g

2 Notes Reblog [Heart]

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sparklingtheaterofexcess





Anonymous asked: Wow, must be hard to read the Tumblr dashboard from way up there on your high horse.




If this fandom continues to clog my dash with meta and analyses with absolutely no basis in logic that only perpetuate wars between those who “stan” Chase and those who “stan” Devon because they’re destined to simultaneously prove which one is at fault in the break-up and woobify the other party, then I will gladly take my absurdly tall horse and ride the fuck out of here.

Hope it’s not too hard to read my response with your head lodged up your ass.

#chevon wank for your bls

32 Notes Reblog [Heart]

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Blaine frowns. While Kurt’s tone online is usually a bit more abrasive and straightforward than Blaine’s, he’s never seen Kurt be this downright mean to someone. It unsettles Blaine, makes him feel something heavy clench in the pit of his stomach. Kurt seemed perfectly fine when they’d been chatting earlier, interspersing questions about characterization with commentary on the latest episode of Chopped and how to properly make a soufflé without burning it, so this latest post seemed wildly out of thin air.

He composes a new message in Gchat, hoping Kurt will notice.

Blaine: Is everything okay?

Kurt: Not really.

Blaine: …Kurt.

Kurt: My step-brother’s car wouldn’t start so I had to drive him to football practice, and this jock who makes my life a living hell was in the parking lot and said some things that I could hear even without my window rolled down. And my brother didn’t do anything to stop it, which isn’t unusual. On a normal day I can deal with it just fine, water off my back, you know? I get slushies thrown in my face, and tossed into dumpsters like garbage, and my shoulder jammed into the edge of lockers, so slurs should be the least of my complaints. But today it just...hit hard. Sorry.

Blaine grimaces, flashing back to memories of his own bullying experiences, tripping face first over someone’s extended foot in the cafeteria, old fruit thrown at him while he ran laps in P.E., swirlied then locked in the girls’ bathroom for half a day until the janitor came to let him out. Thankfully he’s past those now at Dalton, where even the gossip mill is mundane and mainly focused on whose family has the most money, but the way he’d felt his wrist snap when someone stomped on it is something he can’t forget with time or distance.

Blaine: I do know. They put me in the hospital.

Kurt: Who?

Blaine: The...bullies. At my old school.
I asked one of my guy friends from the drama club to go with me to the Sadie Hawkins dance freshman year, and some of the jocks took offense to that, to put it politely, and beat the living crap out of us. And the school just kind of...accepted it.
The guys got suspended because one of them recorded it on his cell phone, like it was a funny clip for youtube to "beat the fags," but the school made it very clear that they weren't going to prevent anything else like this from happening to me and the other two gay students because they "disapproved of our lifestyle choice."
So once my ribs healed I transferred to a private school with a zero tolerance bullying policy.


Kurt: Oh my god.

Blaine:It’s fine, I mean, I’m fine now and everything.
I don't talk about it a lot on my blog, because what kind of message does that send, you know? I want to offer advice to LGBTQ+ people like me, and I tell them to be strong and that everything gets better, but I *ran*, Kurt.
And I think, maybe if I had confronted them earlier with the locker checks and slurs spray painted on my locker, maybe it wouldn't have reached that point.


Tucked away in a drawer in the bottom of Blaine’s desk, hidden between pages of an old spiral notebook, is the photograph of Blaine and his friend from the Sadie Hawkins dance. It’d been taken when they first arrived, not knowing what would happen later, and the photographer shot them a dirty look before he snapped the picture, but to Blaine it had been perfect. Frankly, Blaine was surprised when his homeroom teacher mailed it to him after Blaine transferred schools, since he’d forgotten about it entirely in the wake of the whole ordeal. They look awkward like every teenager does in professional photos, Blaine’s hand hovering slightly above the other boy’s shoulder like he’s afraid to touch, but they’re both smiling and happy despite the braces and chin acne and frizzy hair. I could fall in love with this boy, Blaine had thought--twice, in fact. That night, when they were just two friends dancing in the corner of the gymnasium, grinning even as they listened to the cold whispers and taunts thrown at their backs when they decided to stay on the floor during a slow dance.And again, months later on his way home from a physical therapy appointment, when Blaine ripped open the manila envelope and their picture fell into his lap. Fate had other plans, however, and Blaine is unable to change them, though every once in a while he pulls out the photograph, smooths his fingers over their faces.

Kurt: You don't know that...

Blaine: I think a lot of prejudice stems from ignorance, and since our health classes and churches and community centers aren't doing enough to curb homophobic bullying, I think it's important to call out hate both online and in the real world and show people what they're doing is wrong.

Kurt: Your one-man education quest. I like it.

Blaine: First, the Midwest. Next, the world. :)

Kurt: Thanks for the advice, though. I think I'm going to reblog a gifset of Devon's butt in yoga pants as an apology to my dash, and go do something else for a little bit to distract me.
I’m trying to teach my dad how to make a proper crepe without burning it, anyway, which I’m sure will take all of my patience, most of my afternoon, and probably some of my eyebrows.


Blaine: Haha, pics or it didn’t happen.
See you later, Kurt.
Courage.


---

Blaine doesn’t hear from Kurt for the rest of the night or the next morning, even though he refreshes his dashboard every five minutes while getting ready for school--though all that does is nearly make him late to first period when he gets sidetracked by a tumblr dedicated to making graphics of Chase and Devon with horse_ebooks quotes. It’s not until a break in Warblers rehearsal where Blaine tries to finish his chemistry homework so he doesn’t have any once he gets home that he gets a push notification on his phone from gmail that shows Kurt is making changes to the doc and replying to comments. Satisfied, Blaine tucks his phone back in his pocket and continues converting grams to moles and moles to grams with varying levels of success until Wes calls rehearsal back to order.

Bypassing his mother starting dinner in the kitchen, Blaine heads straight to his bedroom and wiggles the mouse on his laptop to wake it from sleep mode, removing his jacket and loosening his tie in the process. He puts a B-52s album on shuffle on iTunes and dances his way around the room while changing into a pair of sweatpants and a comfortable cotton shirt. The song switches to “Mesopotamia” and Blaine dips into a groove, sliding and snapping his way back to the computer from the clothes hamper in his bathroom. His mother complains passive aggressively when he sings too loud in the house, so Blaine hums and mouths along to the lyrics while drumming with his fingers on the desk. Once Tumblr loads, he types out a text post that just says, “I’ll meet you by the third pyramid,” with a gif of Matt Smith dancing in a tuxedo and posts it without any explanation, knowing that maybe one percent of his followers will get it.

He plops into the office chair chair, letting it roll a little away before grabbing the desk and pulling himself back in. Blaine opens his Google Drive and takes a moment of silence for the ten fic ideas he hasn’t worked on in months before he clicks on Kurt’s Big Bang and scrolls down to where he’d left off before.

What Blaine sees is certainly out of the ordinary, even though he’s only known Kurt for a few days.





”You don’t get it, Devon,” Chase shouts eyes burning. “I can’t be with you any more I’ve said it a hundred times and you never.”

“I thought were were getting better,” Devon says, pleaded with Chase like his life depended on it, “I thought you coming back meant that we would try to work on us as a couple and that we would--”

“There’s nothing to work on,” Chase says. His hands shake as he gripes the paper coffee cup in his hand, now glad he’d picked the coffee shop to discuss this because he’s sure he woudl be crying if they weren’t in public, He hates Devon in that moment, hates him
so much because he just doesn’t understand, nobody understands or cares or does anything about it and he’s all alone why can’t anyone just see how badly he’s hurting




It’s--well, it’s a lot of things Blaine hadn’t come to associate with Kurt and his writing in the short time they’ve known each other. There are at least a thousand new words of rambling, grammatically incorrect, out of control sentences that don’t sound like Chase and Devon in their situation at all, and it’s more than a bit unnerving. Blaine watches as Kurt’s sentences continue to devolve for another paragraph before he snaps himself out of his stupor and opens the chat function on the side of the screen.

Blaine: Um. Kurt?
Is everything okay?


Kurt: ...I’m not sure anything will be okay ever again.

Blaine: Do you want to talk? I know we don’t know each other that well yet, but I’m a good listener if you want...that.

Something nasty twists in the bottom of Blaine’s stomach. He’s not sure he’s prepared to deal with whatever Kurt is going through that could possibly be worse than the high school bullying he’d discussed yesterday. His shoulderblades press hard into the computer chair as he leans back and adjusts his posture from slumping lazily over the keyboard. This is important, and even if Kurt can’t see him, Blaine needs to look the part.

There’s silence for a full five minutes where Blaine just stares at his computer screen, hardly blinking, before Kurt replies.

Kurt: He kissed me.

Blaine: Who?

Kurt: Karofsky.
The bully who’s had a vendetta against me all year.
He kissed me.


Blaine’s heart drops into his stomach and he clutches the edge of his keyboard as a wave of nausea passes through him, reeling a full-body shiver all the way to his toes. Oh, god. He’s going to be sick. The room goes a little white at the edges, and Blaine can feel large, phantom hands grabbing him, holding him still while heavy steel-toed boots connect again and again with his ribs. He wants to slam his eyes shut to stop the panic he can feel bubbling up in his throat, but Kurt keeps typing and Blaine can’t look away.

Kurt: He shoved me to the ground yesterday and I landed hard on my tailbone in the hallway and everyone else just stared at me like I’d done something wrong by falling, and I snapped.
So I yelled at him and followed him into the locker room and honestly I don’t remember what I said to him because I was so angry.
But he grabbed my face and kissed me and I froze.
And I thought he was going to do it again so I shoved him and he punched the locker behind me head and I thought he was going to kill me but he just ran.
I just left school and came home and took three showers but I still feel like my skin is covered in spiders, so I started writing instead to distract me.
And look how that turned out.
I can’t do anything right.


Blaine: Kurt...I am so, so sorry. Oh my god, I am so sorry.
Did you tell somebody what happened???


Kurt: Just you, just now.
I can’t.
I can’t out him like that, and my dad worries enough about my school bullies enough as it is. This is something I just need to deal with.
Not sure why I even told you, to be honest. We haven’t even known each other a week.
For some reason, I trust you.
That’s silly.


Blaine: It’s not silly. I trust you, too.
Which is why I think you should really consider telling someone what happened.
Refuse to be the victim, remember?


Kurt: Yeah, look how great that turned out.

Blaine feels like he’s been punched in the stomach as all the blood drains from his face. Kurt was assaulted because of him and his terrible advice. What does he know about bullies, just because he experienced it and then ran from his own? How could he even think to put Kurt in danger like that? He feels the hard concrete beneath his back, a heavy presence on top of him trying its hardest to break his nose, and has to take a series of deep breaths to steady himself.

He’s forgotten what public school is like, how bullies don’t always listen to reason because life isn’t a television show and PSAs don’t always reach the target demographic.

Kurt: Sorry, that wasn’t...sorry.
This wasn’t your fault.


Blaine: It wasn’t yours, either.

Kurt: I know that.

Blaine: Do you?
Kurt, just because this guy is confused about his sexuality, that doesn’t give him the right to sexually assault you!
You don’t need to protect him when that puts yourself in more danger.
I hate to say it, but I don’t know what this guy is capable of, and I don’t think you should wait to find out.


Tumblr is full of happy things like kittens and stories about awesome people going about their day in New York City, but it’s also full of cruelty and oppression. Stories of assault and violence and other things which Blaine blacklists simply because he can’t bear to be constantly reminded of how awful people can be. Maybe it’s made him sheltered, but Kurt’s story is waving a giant red flag that Blaine can’t ignore or block from his life.

Kurt: I think he’s just scared. I don’t think he would.
You know.
Something more serious.


Blaine: A week ago, did you think he would kiss you without your consent?

Kurt: ...No.
I just heard my dad walk in the front door. I need to go.


Blaine: Kurt, I really care about your safety and well being.
Please consider telling your father. I know you’re worried for him, but I feel like he would be even more worried if he knew you were hiding this from him.
You’re lucky you have a father who cares for you so much.


Kurt: I will consider it.
I just...
Later.


Kurt has left the document.

Blaine lets out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes to stop the migraine prickling at the edges of his temples. His heart skitters in his chest like a bird trying to escape from its cage, wings beating furiously against the bars of his ribs. He longs to comfort Kurt--hug him, tell him everything will be okay even though he can't be sure of that, why had he been so sure of everything before?--but there's only so much a person can do when a connection exists solely through a computer screen. If it were Nick, or Thad, or any of the Warblers he could offer condolences and pour sincerity into his voice, but touch and tone don’t resonate across the internet, and now that Kurt is gone there’s nothing Blaine can do. It leaves him empty, yet rooted to the chair with an impossible weight in his gut.

Blaine closes all of his tabs and stares unfocused at his desktop, watching the rotation of Sing images he has as a background, losing count of how many times times it loops before the guilt gnawing and gnawing away at his stomach becomes too much and he rushes to the bathroom, hand over his mouth. His knees thunk hard onto the cold tile, radiating pain through his legs he ignores with each dry heave over the toilet bowl, fingers clutching the tank to steady his body. Anxiety attacks aren't an uncommon occurrence after the attack, and Blaine knows how to handle them without alerting his parents to their presence since they'd looked disappointed the last time he expressed concern in front of them, but they had become almost non-existent since starting Dalton. Ruined everything again, Blaine thinks, as his stomach rolls towards his throat and he grips harder at the porcelain lid.

It takes several minutes of carefully regulated breathing and slow counting before his heart starts beating at a steady tempo again and Blaine feels comfortable moving away from the bathroom. His legs are as unsteady as a napkin floating in the breeze that Blaine can't seem to grab, so when he makes it to the bed, he faceplants onto the comforter and crawls towards his pillows.

When his mother comes in an hour later to tell him dinner is ready, he says he's coming down with the flu, and she leaves him alone for the rest of the night to sleep fitfully in bursts of twenty to thirty minutes before waking up again. At one point he turns off the light and crawls under the covers, and at another he rinses his mouth with Listerine since there's a pound of cotton gluing his tongue to his soft palate, but Blaine can't seem to shut off his brain long enough to get any restful, purposeful sleep. He looks awful enough the next morning, eyes bloodshot and mouth dry and forehead clammy when his mother puts the back of her hand against his skin, that she doesn't say anything when he's still in bed by the time she leaves for work other than telling him the Tylenol is in the medicine cabinet.

At noon, he finally decides it’s time to get up and face the day. His stomach clenches painfully after not eating in nearly twenty-four hours, his back aches from lying down for so long, and he desperately needs to take a shower that will make him feel like a person again. If he could, he'd wallow in his misery all day, convinced somehow that it would absolve him of guilt since he hasn't been to Confession past age twelve, when he was grappling with his sexuality and the priest gave him answers he didn't want to hear. But as the show must go on, so must Blaine piece himself together and make everything all right again, as best he can.

He grabs a granola bar from the kitchen cupboard, makes his bed and fluffs his pillows, and tidies the toy robots on his dresser until there aren’t any distractions left. Once Blaine resigns himself to checking Tumblr for an update from Kurt (something he never thought would ever happen), he drums his nails on the desk and busies himself stacking papers while his newly-restarted computer takes a while to boot up Google Chrome. The anticipation while his dashboard loads is even worse than when Blaine has several new messages and avoids his inbox for a few minutes, wondering what offensive thing he said or did completely by accident.

There aren't any new messages, though, and since Blaine's queue was running, his followers probably didn't even know he was gone. And that's a scary thought--how long could he be missing before anyone online would even notice a difference? The cast and crew haven't tweeted anything worthwhile, there aren't any new spoilers, and the only fic update Blaine sees is to a longfic he stopped reading after the third paragraph; there's nothing important on his dash, until:

-

sparklingtheaterofexcess

What the hell is a Backyardigan, and why is it all that's on tv right now?

0 Notes Reblog [Heart]

-

Which, arguably, isn't that important in the grand scheme of things, but Blaine's heart jumps into his throat and he startles out a laugh that's more breathy squeak than not. He opens a new tab and his fingers fumble typing the web address for Google Docs three times before he forces himself to slow down. Kurt is still in the document, and Blaine starts typing a message to him in the chat when one from Kurt appears first.

Kurt: I told my dad.

Blaine: And?

Kurt: He freaked out, like I knew he would.
Not at me, of course.
We hugged and cried a lot last night and I slept in his bed like I was eight years old again after my mother died, but I think it helped because I hadn’t told him how serious the bullying had become and it all just kind of...spilled out.


Blaine: I’m glad you felt comfortable telling him, Kurt. It sounds like you and your dad have an awesome relationship.
What are you going to do about the whole...situation?


Kurt: It’s already been done.
My dad stormed in the principal’s office this morning like an angry bear defending its cub from wolves and demanded that he do something about what happened or face a serious sexual assault lawsuit.
We were arguing for expulsion but the principal said there wasn’t enough evidence since after a problem with the former glee club teacher there are no longer security cameras in the boys’ locker room. But he did get suspended for three days.
And we now have a no-contact contract, so if he DOES violate it, he can then be expelled.


It’s a start, certainly more than Blaine’s school was willing to do, but that isn’t saying much. A piece of paper isn’t going to stop a homophobic bully, no matter how strongly worded and legally binding it may be. Blaine’s mind flashes to the community theater production he’d seen of The Laramie Project, the video he’d watched on YouTube of “8”, all the countless horror stories he’d read on forums and blogs when he’d first realized what being gay actually meant in the Midwest.

Blaine: That doesn’t seem like enough to me. >:|

Kurt: It’s not, but tbh it’s more than I expected from the school.
I’m considering it a win.


Blaine: Well then, I’m very happy for you, Kurt.
I’m still sorry that all happened, though.


Kurt: It’s still not your fault, Blaine. And I’m feeling a lot better today.
My dad let me stay home from school and drove thirty minutes away just so we could get Culver’s before he went back to work.
Wait, what are you doing home from school? I usually don’t see you online until well after I get out of glee rehearsal.


Blaine: The official diagnosis is “coming down with something,” but to tell you the truth, I didn’t sleep at all last night.
And I felt miserable this morning knowing my friend was distressed and I couldn’t do anything about it.


Kurt: Good, I’m glad.
Not that you didn’t feel well!
But that you called me your friend.


Blaine smiles wide, one of the full-teeth ones that he consciously avoids in pictures because it scrunches his face and makes his eyes all squinty. Friends. He likes that.

Blaine: We are friends, right?

Kurt: Blaine, I think you may be one of my best friends.
Which is a high honor that before only two fierce divas in my glee club shared.


Blaine: Now three. :D

Kurt: :D :D

Blaine makes a happy humming noise and is about to flip back to Tumblr to catch the updates he missed, now that he feels better, but his breath catches in his throat when all of the new text on the screen highlights. Though he has no idea what Kurt’s actually doing, he imagines a hand slowly and dramatically lowering towards the backspace key on the keyboard. Blaine panics, types frantically into the chat.

Blaine: WAIT.
DON’T ERASE ANYTHING.


Kurt: What, why?
Blaine, it’s all garbage.
I used three adverbs in one sentence. One sentence!


Blaine: Oh, it definitely needs a *lot* of work.
You committed comma atrocities I’ve never seen before.
But I think that some of the raw emotion is salvageable, especially since Chase is going through such a difficult time in the break-up. The emotion is good.
The execution? Not so much.
Think of it like a super rough draft.


Kurt: Fine, oh wise and wonderful beta. :)
But you’re helping me pick through everything!


The highlight disappears, and Blaine lets out a sigh of relief that turns into a breathy chuckle when he reads Kurt’s reply. As the new section moves down a few large spaces and Kurt begins re-typing the first couple sentences, embellished and with proper grammar that warms Blaine’s heart, Blaine types a reply in the chat and begins working at the end of the last paragraph so he and Kurt will meet in the middle.

Blaine: It’s a date. :)

Chapter Three

Comments

( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
whisperyvoices
Sep. 14th, 2013 05:48 pm (UTC)
oh...this got intense! me likey!
( 1 comment — Leave a comment )

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