#klaine adv

[bebelonian]

klaine advent day 10: judgment

The bedroom was freezing, like someone had left the window open overnight and the chill had seeped into the walls, permeating every part of the small room until not even a heater and a courageous pile of blankets could fight against it. It was in stark contrast with how Kurt felt on the inside; it was like he was burning up, melting from the inside, his bones and skin turning to dust until there was nothing left of him but a memory--

“Hey.” A touch on his arm. He turned, the movement taking more effort than he liked it to, and stared up into Blaine’s eyes, and he suddenly wasn’t burning anymore. Whatever he needed, Blaine gave it to him, even if he didn’t realize he was doing it. It was one of the thousands of things Kurt loved about him, but he couldn’t bring himself to form the words to say it aloud.

“What’s wrong?” Blaine asked, sliding into the bed beside Kurt and laying his head in the space between his shoulder and his neck. “Baby, you’re starting to worry me. You’ve been like this--sad, tired, not talking to me--ever since the appointment, ever since we found out--”

“Don’t say it,” Kurt whispered, mouth thinning into a tight frown. “I don’t need the reminder right now, okay? I just--I need to pretend it’s not happening for a little while longer.”

“Why?” Blaine demanded. “Kurt, you have nothing to be ashamed or scared of. Mental illness sucks, I know, but--”

“Don’t call it that. Jesus. You make it sound like I’m horribly diseased, or something.”

Wounded, Blaine pulled back and sat up on the bed, curling up in his corner of the bed and leaving Kurt cold and alone. “Is it really that terrible?” he asked. “I mean, you talk a big game about supporting people with mental illness, about supporting me, but apparently that was just you pretending, too.”

“It’s not that,” Kurt protested, shocked enough to sit up himself and face his husband. He hadn’t been aware of the effect his words would have until he’d said them, and the last thing he wanted was to hurt Blaine. “Of course not. I love you no matter what, depression or not--you know that, Blaine. I just--God, why is this so hard to say? It’s stupid, anyway. Forget it.”

“No, Kurt,” said Blaine, and his voice was firm but his eyes belied the panic and concern he was feeling. “I’m not gonna sit here and let you torture yourself anymore. I thought that going to the doctor and getting a real diagnosis would help, but you’ve been worse than ever since that appointment. Is it the label? Sometimes it’s hard to hear that you really have a problem, but OCD isn’t anything that can’t be helped--”

“I’m afraid you’re going to leave me,” Kurt shouted, and burst into tears.

“Oh, God,” Blaine whispered, pulling him closer and blinking away his own tears. “I . . . you have to know that I would never do that, Kurt. Not in a million years. Not over something like this, something that you can’t help.”

“You say that now, but--if therapy or meds don’t work, I--I’m scared that you’re going to judge me, and I can’t live with that.,” Kurt hiccupped, unable to stop hyperventilating.

“Never,” Blaine promised, rubbing soothing circles into his back. “I will never judge you for this, do you hear me? Never. If treatment doesn’t work out for you, that’s fine, and do you know why?”

Sniffing, Kurt chanced a look up at his husband’s face and shook his head.

“It’s because I love you, silly,” said Blaine. “I love you unconditionally. I love your hair, and your eyes, and your mouth, and your beautiful smile, and your sparkling personality⸺”

“I get it,” Kurt muttered. “You don’t have to make me feel good.”

“I’m not finished,” Blaine protested, smirking despite the gravity of the situation. “I love your incredible taste and ability to pull off literally any outfit on the planet.”

Kurt offered a watery smile and a choked half-laugh. “Well, obviously.”

“I love the way you sing, and your handwriting, and the way you make me breakfast on Sundays to make up for all the times I did it for you before you dumped me.”

“You moved out before I dumped you, technically,” said Kurt, “but continue.”

“I love your Bette Midler tattoo, and your terrible jokes, and how you support me through everything, and I love your OCD.”

Kurt winced. “The list was fine until now. You don’t have to lie to make me feel better, Blaine, really. I’m not going to sit here and say that I’m in love with the fact that you have depression--it makes me sad to see you go through that. I’m still in love with you, but . . . Oh.”

“That’s how I feel about you,” Blaine said, taking Kurt’s hands in his. “Exactly like that. It sucks that you’re not at a hundred percent mentally right now, but it doesn’t mean I love you any less or I’m going to judge you for hitting a rough patch.” He sighed and bit his lip, trying to decide what to say next. “Do you believe me?”

There was a pause as Kurt considered the question. He knew that Blaine would never lie to him, especially not about things like this, but there was still an irrational part of his brain screaming that, in a few months, he would be divorced and alone. He was going to lose the one thing that meant the most to him in the world.

“Kurt.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you believe me?”

This was it. This was the turning point, where a decision was made, where trust was built up or torn down, where happiness was restored or destroyed. The pressure, combined with an overwhelming need to get out of the bed and make it, was enough to drive Kurt almost crazy.

He leaned forward and kissed Blaine, hard, and when he sat back, he felt better, like the voices inside him, the ones that insisted that he was going to be alone or that he was broken, had been silenced by contact. It was maybe the best feeling in the world.

Kurt said, “Yes.”