blueb1rd (blueb1rd) wrote,

Fic: Picket Fence - Prologue + 1/?

Media: Fic
Title: Picket Fence
Rating: will range from PG to R overall. PG-13 for this part.
Pairings: eventual Kurt/Blaine
Spoilers (if any): none
Warnings (if any): suicidal ideation in later chapters, other warnings chapter by chapter, none for this one
Word Count: 2180 for this part
Most people are excited about being assigned. It’s a rite of passage, a hallmark of adulthood. They don’t take into consideration the fact that they have no choice in the matter - it’s simpler this way. Gives them a sense of security. Kurt Hummel is not most people.
Author’s Note (if any): I had no intention of writing an arranged marriage fic, but I saw this prompt on the kink meme and the idea wouldn't get out of my head. Thank you to the people on the KB WIP post that showed interest, a_glass_parade for the title inspiration, and an extra special thanks to gameboycolor who does awesome things like help me work out headcanon for this into the wee hours of the morning and tolerate my crazy. You're my favorite <3
Previous Parts: prologue

Read on AO3 | Read on LJ:

Blaine Anderson stands in front of his new home and feels the weight of the keys resting in his palm. The air around him feels heavy with a mix of excitement and anxiety. Anticipation. This is it - the moment when his old life ends and the new one begins. He smiles, just a little, and looks up, allowing his gaze to drift slowly over the starter house. Taking stock.

It’s not as large as the house he grew up in, but it’s more than enough for the two to three people it was designed for. It’s two stories high and painted a neutral off-white with warm, golden-brown trim. There’s a large bay window on the first floor through which he can see a glimpse of what appears to be the dining room, and a tiny balcony on the second. Over all it’s pretty standard, but starter houses are meant to be that way - cut from the same cookie cutter mold, a blank slate for new couples to personalize and make their own. It feels like a promise, like hope.

He can’t help but smile at that feeling.

After taking a deep breath and looking for just a few moments longer, he makes his way up the path and to the front door. He unlocks it, pushes it open, and then... he’s here. He’s inside.

The entry way is big and open. From where he’s standing just inside the door he has a clear view of the living room and, yes, what he’d correctly assumed to be the dining room. The walls inside are the same off-white color as the exterior, just waiting for a fresh coat of paint to bring them to life. The furniture is basic, but looks comfortable enough. Everything is bright and warm, yellows and whites and reds and glowing wood. Save for the paint, the walls are bare. Blaine closes his eyes for a moment and imagines the things they’ll hang there - childhood photos, family portraits, paintings they find in cosy little art galleries.

The file says Kurt likes art.

Blaine hasn’t actually met him yet. It’s not unusual for matched couples to arrange to meet before the official move in date and Blaine had even sent Kurt a polite, carefully worded email (trying not to sound too over eager) inviting him to coffee. But Kurt had turned him down. He had too much to do, he’d said, with packing up his belongings and preparing for the move. Blaine’s disappointed, but he understands. Moving is a nerve-wracking process for anyone.

And technically their move in date is tomorrow, but Blaine hadn’t been able to wait. Hadn’t been able to sleep or eat or sit still without knowing, without seeing this place the new life he was so eager to start would begin.

He wants to settle in, to make the starter house more homelike before Kurt arrives. Make sure his new life-mate would feel welcome and positive about this change in their circumstances. Make sure he does everything he possibly can to ensure that Kurt will like him.

They’d been matched based on potential compatibility, same as every other government sanctioned union, but that wasn’t a guarantee. There’s only so much you can know about a person from a few questionnaires and personality quizzes - at the end of the day the Union Assignment Committee does little more than make an educated guess. They boast a sixty-eight percent success rate, but that still leaves a thirty-two percent margin of error.

Blaine isn’t worried about what he’ll think of Kurt. There’s something about the tiny wallet-sized photo that came with the file (the one that, yes, Blaine has been carrying around in his wallet for the past three weeks), about Kurt’s face and the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, that makes Blaine just know. He’s going to like Kurt. He’s going to more than like him.

But who knows what Kurt is thinking about him? Blaine had been in the registry for eight months before he’d been matched - the average waiting time is only four. For a while he’d thought there was something wrong with him. That he was unmatchable. Getting Kurt’s file in the mail had been... oh God, it had felt like a miracle, like the best day of his life. The tight knot of anxiety that had been sitting in his stomach for months had finally loosened, and he could breathe again.

Until the move in date kept getting closer and closer. Now he can’t help thinking that maybe the registry office was just desperate to get him out of their system. That Kurt had been a good match for Blaine, but maybe he wasn’t a good match for Kurt. Or even if he was, on paper, maybe it won’t translate into real life. Maybe Kurt won’t love him. Maybe Kurt won’t even like him. After all, Blaine’s nothing special. Average intelligence, stupid hair, goofy smile. The only thing remotely remarkable about him is his voice, and according to the file (and, all right, he’ll admit it - he’d done some internet sleuthing) Kurt is an impressive vocalist, too.

There is no guarantee that this will go as well as he has always hoped.

But he pushes those thoughts aside. He can’t worry about it now, not when everything is so close to beginning. He just has to focus on doing his best to make Kurt comfortable, being the best everything that he can possibly be. And that starts with acquainting himself with their new home.

He moves through the first floor with his ears perked like an interested, excited puppy, peeking into rooms as he finds them. In addition to the living room and dining room there is a decent sized kitchen outfitted with shiny new appliances and a small breakfast nook, a half bath, and a tiny back room with a desk and computer chair squeezed in. The back yard, viewed through the windows, isn’t large, but there’s enough room for a picnic table and a small grill. Maybe a swing - a swing would be nice.

He pauses for a moment, picturing summer cook outs in his head. Kurt at the grill (his file says he likes to cook), Blaine smoothing a table cloth over the picnic table and setting up plates and napkins. They’ll chat as they work, tell each other about their day, laugh over private jokes.

It’s been like this since he’d been matched. Before that, if he’s being completely honest. The moment the clock struck twelve a.m. on his twenty-first birthday he’d boarded a crazy roller coaster ride of alternating anxiety and euphoria, and he has yet to get off. Tomorrow, he hopes. Tomorrow he’ll meet Kurt and he’ll know for sure, one way or the other.

He makes his way up the stairs and finds that most of the upper floor is taken up with a wide, open space - similar to the layout down stairs. There’s an empty book case and a cosy looking chaise lounge, and big, glass paneled double doors leading out onto the small balcony he’d seen from the front path.

The first door he opens leads to a tiny bedroom, meant for guests or a first child. It’s simple and bare, save for a bed and a small end table. The upstairs bathroom, right next door, is spacious and bright with a big tub just perfect for bubble baths.

And then there’s the master bedroom, the most intimate space he’ll share with Kurt.

Like the rest of the house, there’s plenty of room for improvement and personalization, but Blaine can already see the potential. They’ll change the curtains to match the comforter set they’ll pick out together, maybe add a rug. They’ll put up pictures and knickknacks, hang their clothing side by side in the closet. Little things, like that. Little things that make a place feel like home.

Blaine spends the next two hours unpacking the car and finding places to put his belongings - just temporarily, of course, pending Kurt’s approval. Three photo frames go on the mantel in the living room. One contains a picture of six year old Blaine, curls running wild and freckles smattering his face, proudly displaying his first missing tooth. The next is a family portrait, taken when he was twelve or thirteen. The third is his favorite. It was taken in high school and shows Blaine surrounded by the Warblers, most of whom he’s still in contact with, and who have always made up his closest friends.

His favorite coffee mug (there’s nothing special about it - just plain white with a bow tie etched on one side - his aunt had made it for him for Christmas one year) finds a place in the kitchen cabinet nearest the sink. An old throw blanket, one that had been in his parents’ house for as long as he can remember but no one seemed to care about but him, is draped over the living room sofa. He hangs his clothing up in the master bedroom’s closet, first on the left, then shoved to the right, then pushed to the middle to make sure Kurt would know he’s not trying to stake a claim one way or the other. He puts some of his books in the shelves upstairs, because they looked so bare and lonely, and the rest (his favorite) on a side table in the living room.

The house is already furnished, of course, so there’s no real heavy lifting. Blaine considers this to be fortunate - manual labor has never been one of his strong suits. Despite this, by the time he’s finished he’s tired enough not to want to fuss over dinner. He leans against the kitchen counter, eats a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, downs half a glass of milk, and goes up to bed.


Sunlight is streaming in through the windows when he blinks slowly awake the next morning, stretching and rolling on his back. He finds himself smiling up at the ceiling - so this is what it’s like to wake up in your own home and know that in a matter of hours there would be someone to share it with.

It has to be the nicest thing he’s ever felt.

Blaine just lays there for a bit, day dreaming. He wonders which side of the bed Kurt likes to sleep on. He’s always preferred the left, himself, but he’s willing to give the right a try if his husband (he feels like a teenager, but he can’t help the little flutter he experiences every time he thinks that word) asks him to.

He pictures them waking up together, sleepy chuckles as one of them accidentally smacks into the other (light enough not to hurt) while stretching. Sharing the ridiculous things they’d dreamed the night before. Discussing their plans for the day. His heart aches with how much he wants this life, and he feels a giddy thrum at the knowledge that in twelve hours it will officially begin.

But he can’t stay in bed day dreaming forever. He’s not a morning person, not really, and he usually prefers to sleep in and stay lazing if he has the opportunity. But this is a big day, and he doesn’t want to waste one more minute of it.

So he rolls out of bed and stretches up, standing on his tippy toes and yawning widely, scratching at his stomach before he makes his way into the bathroom to shuffle sleepily through his morning routine. In no time at all he’s showered and brushed his teeth, and back in the bedroom rubbing a towel through his dripping wet hair, another slung low on his waist. He flicks on the radio and drops his hair towel on the floor, grinning as he shakes his head like a dog and stands in front of the mirrored closet doors.

Music’s always been that thing for him, the thing he could count on to help him relax, boost his confidence. And the song playing right now is... it’s silly, and audacious, but it’s exactly what he needs to gear himself up for the day ahead.

He can’t help singing along, even snatches his brush off the bed side table to use as a make shift microphone. Blaine adds in some make shift choreography, dancing around the room using old Warblers moves - snapping and two stepping and grinning like an idiot. It’s fun, ridiculous and frivolous and all of the things he doesn’t allow himself to be except behind closed doors. He loses himself in the moment, spinning around as he sings “you can keep your toys in the drawer tonight”...

...And finds himself face to face with three astonished strangers standing in the doorway at the exact moment the towel falls from his hips.
Tags: fanfiction, glee, klaine, picket fence
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