Chapter Text
Blaine Anderson.
Kurt read the name etched into his palm over and over, memorizing the way the words sounded on his lips, in his brain, the way the ‘n’ swirled into the 'e’, the way the ’d’ looped at the stem. He wondered vaguely what they looked like, how they talked, where they lived, if they was the same age. All he knew was that when he grew up, he would belong to Blaine Anderson, and this was what Blaine Anderson’s handwriting looked like.
Kurt didn’t think this told very much about a person.
He didn’t distinctly remember shifting from curiosity as to what the words on his hand meant to curiosity as to whose face they belonged to. Surely it was probably tied into the span of time in which he learned to read.
But now that he knew how to read and he was a phosisticated (at least that’s what it sounded like when his dad said it) big boy in Kindergarten, Kurt was beginning to wonder other things.
Like why the name on his hand didn’t belong to a girl.
Like why Kurt felt the need to keep his mouth shut when the other boys in his class were comparing names, holding contests over which sounded like it belonged to the prettiest girl. Kurt didn’t know how he knew, but he was pretty sure that those boys didn’t consider other boys pretty, so he kept his hand stuffed in his pocket, doodling patterns in the sandbox with the other.
Like why when Kurt screwed up his face real hard in order to picture a face of a girl as his soulmate, he couldn’t.
Like why Kurt was inexplicably relieved that the name on his hand didn’t belong to a girl.
“Kurt?”
The small boy lurched out of his stupor, looking frantically up from where he was nestled in the couch with an abandoned Vogue magazine at his feet to his mother.
“Hey mommy,” he sighed in relief, dragging the magazine back to his lap. He didn’t understand what the words in the columns meant, but he liked turning the glossy pages filled with colorful pictures.
“Doing homework?” Elizabeth Hummel asked pointedly, shaking out her glossy chestnut hair before picking Kurt up underneath his arms and settling him back down in her lap on the couch. She leaned back against the arm of the plush sofa and Kurt leaned back into her, propping up the magazine as he breathed in her perfume.
“I finished it at school,” he said proudly as his mom turned a shiny page.
“My smart little boy,” Elizabeth smiled, kissing the brown locks that were identical to hers.
Kurt smiled but said nothing, sadly gazing down at his hands as his mother flipped page after page.
“What’s wrong, Kurtie?” she finally probed.
Kurt considered. His mom was a girl, right? So she should know why he didn’t want a girl for a soul mate. And she wouldn’t be offended, because she was his mom and she would love him no matter what, forever and ever.
He hadn’t realized he had been tracing the letters on his hand until his mother’s finger replaced his own.
“Is it about Blaine?” she asked softly, as if he were a friend of the family or a neighbor or someone Kurt went to school with. As if he were more than a name, as if she knew exactly who he was and what he looked like.
“Yeah,” Kurt said quietly, watching his mom’s slender finger trace the words over and over: B-l-a-i-n-e A-n-d-e-r-s-o-n, B-l-a-i-n-e A-n-d-e-r-s-o-n, B-l-a-i-n-e A-n-d-e-r-s-o-n.
“What about him?”
The simple query smacked Kurt in the chest. “That,” he said. “Just that. Why him?”
Kurt could feel his mother smiling above him. “Why is the sky blue? Why is the grass green?”
“No,” Kurt shook his head, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “I mean, why him,” He re-emphasized.
Elizabeth was quiet for a moment, pausing her motions on Kurt’s hand to stroke his hair. He fought the urge to bat her hand away because it was her and not anyone else.
“Because he’s the one who’s going to love you for you, just the way you are,” she finally said.
“But he’s a-”
“Kurt,” his mother interrupted softly, “Do you want a girl’s name on your hand?”
“No,” Kurt said, without hesitation.
“Then why should it matter?”
“Because all the other boys show off their girl names and I don’t know what to say,” Kurt blurted out, hating the tears that bubbled into his eyes.
“Sweetie,” his mom cooed, setting aside the magazine and turning her son around to look him in the eye. “I’m going to be truthful, and the truth may not be nice to hear, but if you’re really worrying about it then you should know.”
Kurt looked imploringly into her brown eyes, basking in their warmth.
“Some people aren’t going to like you for who destiny has chosen you to be with. It’s just the way it is. People, especially kids your age, don’t like what’s different, what they think is wrong.”
Kurt panicked. “It’s wrong to love another boy?”
“No, love. You aren’t wrong. You’re different, unique. What I’m saying is that not everyone sees it that way.”
Kurt frowned. “Well then they’re stupid.”
“Language, my sweet,” Elizabeth scolded lightly. “But that’s absolutely true. And I don’t want you to worry about what they think, or want them to love you. Because people who don’t love you for who you are don’t matter. The only people who you need to love you are me, your dad, and Blaine,” she said, tracing Kurt’s hand idly once again.
They stayed curled into each other for a long time, taking turns tracing the letters on Kurt’s hand.
B-l-a-i-n-e A-n-d-e-r-s-o-n.
B-l-a-i-n-e A-n-d-e-r-s-o-n.
B-l-a-i-n-e A-n-d-e-r-s-o-n.
“It doesn’t seem fair,” Kurt finally whispered, allowing a single tear to fall upon the 'a-i’ on his right palm. His mother sighed, dabbing the drop of moisture away. Kurt could barely hear her response.
“It never will be.”