Work Text:
This is my design
Blaine blinks. He sits down heavily, sending a cloud of dust up all around that settles into his hair. He inhales it, and for a moment he thinks he can feel it entering his bloodstream to become a part of him. For a moment, he relishes it as he knows it is made of skin cells and hair molecules and a thousand other tiny bits of people long gone. He is connected to them, and they are a part of him. He is not alone. He licks his lips and hungers for more. He needs more.
“Blaine.” His head jerks up to see Dr. Cohen-Chang. Her eyes are soft as she calls him back from his head.
“Y-Yes?” Blaine nearly bites his tongue off at frustration at the stutter. Classic sign of distress, practically embarrassingly so.
“So what can you tell us?” Artie asks, business-like as usual. Artie’d wheeled into Blaine’s classroom this afternoon and sent all his students fleeing with just one look over the rims of his glasses. Blaine admires that ability, but at times he wishes Artie could be a little more polite. But then he supposes that people don’t become the head of Behavioral Sciences at the FBI by being polite.
“He’s lonely. He seeks connection with his victims. He – he wants to be close with them. That’s why he” He scrubs his hand over his face, swallowing against the scratchy taste of dust. He can hear the snap of ribs breaking under his fingers, the slipperiness of the blood. “That’s why he eats them. So that they’ll be a part of him.”
“We need something more concrete than that.” Artie says impatiently. “This is the third victim already and –“
“You think I don’t know that?” Blaine snaps, slamming his fist into his knee. He takes another deep breath, and tries not to gag against the dust that settles into his tongue. “It’s a white male. He’ll be involved with theater, a gifted method actor, but hold himself aloof from his fellows. Not because he doesn’t care, but because he… because he’s awkward. He’s bad at showing love. He’s only got a few friends. He’s young, just out of college. He’s just lost his home, and he doesn’t have anywhere to go. He doesn’t have any family. He’ll have lost his parents early, as a child, and he’ll still keep mementos of them.” Blaine takes a breath in through his nose. “He’s searching for connection. These victims will have been people he knew, people he admired and loved that he was afraid of losing.”
“None of the victims knew each other,” Special Agent Evans says, flipping through his clipboard.
“Maybe they didn’t know each other but they all knew him.” Blaine says, resisting the urge to rub his temples. He can see Dr. Cohe- Tina watching him.
“Then why break in?” Evans asks. His eyes are bright, excited as though this was a game. Blaine would want to punch him, except he knows how much Sam really does care. He cares so much that he needs to turn it into a game, or he’d never be able to do his job. “Why not just knock on the door and get let in?”
Blaine looks at the blood stains on the walls. It’s almost in a paisley pattern, flaking brown off the walls and onto the floor. “He was sorry. He didn’t want to kill them as their friend. He wanted them to die not knowing it was him. He made himself someone else, killed them in their sleep as a common criminal. And then, and only then, did he turn back into himself. And that’s when he eats them.” He thinks, that’s when he becomes one with them, but doesn’t say it out loud. “He eats them raw, to keep their essence pure. Just the heart, because he’s not a monster.” Blaine’s smile twists painfully. “He just wants to make sure he’ll never have to live without them, without their love.” They’ve never leave him now, Blaine thinks, and nearly shudders at that tendril trying to work its way into his mind.
“Jeez,” Evans says, scribbling down Blaine’s words. “Couldn’t he have just gotten Facebook?”
“Thanks Blaine,” Artie says. His voice is clipped, but his hand when he shakes Blaine’s is gentle. He doesn’t ask if Blaine’s okay. Blaine’s not sure whether he’s grateful for that or not.
“Hey Blaine,” Tina catches him on the way out. “Sorry for barging in, I just wanted to make sure you were still okay after the whole, you know-“
“Killing Will Schuester?” Blaine smiles reassuringly. It hurts the corners of his mouth. “I’m okay. Really.”
“I hear you’ve been at Finn’s bedside every day.” Tina presses. “Blaine, you know-“
“I know it wasn’t my fault.” Blaine says wearily. “But it wasn’t Finn’s fault either, that his dad couldn’t handle him growing up and not being his devoted little follower anymore. It’s not his fault that he’s alone now, he needs-“
“He doesn’t need the first person he sees to be the man that killed his father, no matter how justified it was.” Tina says firmly. “You need to go home Blaine.” She touches the side of his hand with her pinky, just enough pressure to let him know she’s there. “Let me take you home.”
He gently brushes her hand away, smiles genuinely this time to soften the rejection. “I’m sorry Tina, but I’ve already got dinner plans."
“Ah.” He can see her pulling back, and for a moment he regrets his decision, wants to grab at her retreating hand and it use it reel himself back in. But then his phone buzzes, and it’s Kurt.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and he is, but Kurt will always come first. “I have to go.”
--
“Hi.” Blaine pants, breathless and red-faced from running up the stairs.
“Hi,” Kurt echoes, a tiny smile blossoming over his face as Blaine watches. “Do come in."
“Thanks,” Blaine says. He unwinds his scarf and carefully hangs it on the hook that he’s privately come to refer to as his.
“How was your day?” Kurt asks. His tone is perfectly even, gentle and calm as it always is, but the sharpness in his eyes lets Blaine know that Kurt already knows the answer to his question. Kurt never does ask questions he doesn’t know the answer to. Maybe he should have been a lawyer, not a psychiatrist.
“I can still taste the dust from his house,” Blaine admits. His voice cracks. He has to look away from Kurt’s face, from the understanding, the acceptance, he knows he’ll find there.
Kurt reaches out, and carefully smooths down Blaine’s collar. “Well then,” he says, “I can help you get that taste out of your mouth.” He looks up at Blaine through his eyelashes.
Blaine has to crack a grin at that. “Promises, promises.” He flirts back. He can feel his muscles loosening the longer he stays in Kurt’s company. Kurt’s safe, he knows, he can be himself around Kurt and Kurt is just… amazing. Witty and brilliant and so kind, though he hides it well. Blaine’d hated him at first, hated having those eyes penetrate him over the table. He’s glad now that they stopped trying to be patient and doctor. Kurt’s just Kurt now. And he’s amazing.
Blaine sniffs the air. And an amazing cook too. “What’s for dinner?” He asks, his mouth already watering. He’s never had meat the way Kurt cooks it, meltingly soft and delicious.
“I knew you were going to have a long day, so I made your favorite.” Kurt smiles as he kisses Blaine. Blaine can feel the way the corners of Kurt’s mouth turn up against his, and the wash of happiness and love finally flushes the very last bit of the killer out of him.
“You’re too good to me,” Blaine says, breathing in the smell of the lilacs that Kurt always keeps in his house. It coats every room except the kitchen, where blood has permeated the wood itself until just being in the room is enough to make Blaine’s mouth water. Blood and lilacs, that’s what Kurt is to him.
Kurt feeds him bits of sausage with his fingers, until both his hands and Blaine’s lips are greasy with fat. They eat the saffron rice together, trading forkfuls, and Blaine marvels at how well the rice absorbed the flavor of the sausage. He waxes lyrical about the brightness of the vegetables studded throughout like jewels. Kurt preens, but Blaine can see the tips of his ears turn red.
“You just keep me around for my compliments,” Blaine teases, pointing his fork at Kurt. “I’m onto you mister.”
Kurt rolls his eyes, takes another bite of the sausage and rice. “You’ve caught me.”
Blaine nearly chokes on a bite of sausage laughing. He waves off Kurt, who immediately nearly upends the table making sure he’s okay. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” Blaine coughs, still laughing. “You don’t have to worry so much about me.”
“Of course I worry,” Kurt touches the back of his neck lightly. Blaine can feel Kurt’s fingers shaking, so light on his skin that he could almost be imagining it. “Who would compliment my food if you weren’t around?”
“I’m sure you could find plenty of people who’d love to eat your cooking Kurt.” Blaine grasps Kurt’s hand between his own, gentle as though he was clasping a butterfly.
Kurt rubs his thumb over Blaine’s hand. “No one’s ever loved my food the way you do Blaine.” He kisses the side of Blaine’s mouth, flicking the tip of his tongue to taste the grease still staining Blaine’s skin. “It makes me want to cook for you forever.”
“Forever?” Blaine’s voice cracks. He knows how fleeting life is, has seen it end in a million different ways. But somehow, Kurt makes him want to believe in forever.
“Forever.” Kurt promises. When they kiss, Blaine tastes blood and grease and Kurt. It’s the best thing he’s ever tastes.