Entry tags:
channel the weathervanes
I would like to consider myself a relatively functional young man. Even when experiencing greater amounts of heartache than I've ever known.
(Well, no, that's not exactly true. I can remember worse times, but I'd prefer not to dwell on death right now. It gives me the tendency of wanting to cling to people... even when I know it's not a good idea.)
This city isn't a good one to remain alone in. It isn't a place you want to wander on your own. It's other people who keep you grounded, who remind you of what's real and what isn't, and having Blaine torn from that has left me flapping in the wind. It's been tempting to show up at his doorstep and ignore everything else, beg him to come back, just stay by my side and help me keep from this panic that sits in my chest. But that wouldn't be productive, that wouldn't fix the tear, and I'm sure I'd just end up resenting him.
I resent people easily.
So instead, I'm going about my day and putting all of my efforts towards convincing people that I'm fine. Even though I'm not. So not.
The grocery store is quiet enough for me to push my cart around without too much care. The contents look different than they ever have before. Half the amount of food. None of Blaine's favorites. But it's nice to think things through and make decisions I can believe in.
That's when a couple of girls stumble down the aisle, loud and laughing as they take down a couple boxes of cereal, opening them up without care or preamble.
"Whoa," I mutter to myself, hurrying along to meet the both of them and crouching slightly. "Hey, darlings, you realize that you have to pay for anything you open, right?"
...I'm not great with kids.
I should probably find their guardian.
(Well, no, that's not exactly true. I can remember worse times, but I'd prefer not to dwell on death right now. It gives me the tendency of wanting to cling to people... even when I know it's not a good idea.)
This city isn't a good one to remain alone in. It isn't a place you want to wander on your own. It's other people who keep you grounded, who remind you of what's real and what isn't, and having Blaine torn from that has left me flapping in the wind. It's been tempting to show up at his doorstep and ignore everything else, beg him to come back, just stay by my side and help me keep from this panic that sits in my chest. But that wouldn't be productive, that wouldn't fix the tear, and I'm sure I'd just end up resenting him.
I resent people easily.
So instead, I'm going about my day and putting all of my efforts towards convincing people that I'm fine. Even though I'm not. So not.
The grocery store is quiet enough for me to push my cart around without too much care. The contents look different than they ever have before. Half the amount of food. None of Blaine's favorites. But it's nice to think things through and make decisions I can believe in.
That's when a couple of girls stumble down the aisle, loud and laughing as they take down a couple boxes of cereal, opening them up without care or preamble.
"Whoa," I mutter to myself, hurrying along to meet the both of them and crouching slightly. "Hey, darlings, you realize that you have to pay for anything you open, right?"
...I'm not great with kids.
I should probably find their guardian.

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"Seriously?" I say to them, rolling my eyes when Mack whines, "We were hungry."
I snort a laugh, offering Kurt a crooked smirk as I bend to pick up the two boxes and chuck one of them into my cart with a sigh. "You wanted marshmallows, you weren't hungry."
Turning to Kurt and holding up the box, I say, "Guess you wouldn't be interested in an opened box of cereal, huh?"
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I think.
"Mmm, tempting as it is, I think your girls chose boxes that are more sugar than cereal," I reply with a grin, crossing my arms lightly over my chest. "And I think I've moved on from that stage of my life. Or at least, I pretend to have."
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"Alright, monsters, no more opening boxes in the store. We save all the opening for home," I say, letting Flo slip her hand into mine while Mack goes over to peer at what's inside Kurt's cart.
"So, now you get to see firsthand what happens when Mike Pinocchio procreates," I say to Kurt, biting back a grin. "This is Flo, and that over there's Mack."
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Peeking at either of the girls, I glance back Neil's way, pressing my lips tightly together. Still don't know how I'm supposed to interact with them, exactly.
"How old are they?" I ask.
...that's the thing to ask, right?
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Honestly, it's still weird for me, too. They did just kinda appear outta nowhere, after nearly eight months without them.
"So, how you been?" I know about shit with Blaine, but that's not necessarily what I'm asking. Still, I can't imagine that things have been awesome or anything.
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Licking my lips, I glance back up in Neil's direction with a slight sigh. "I've been okay," I murmur. "Mostly throwing my back into auditions and working hard at the store. On the bright side, I've been working up the ranks at my job. But no luck with auditions yet. Oh! And I got a cat."
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"We have two cats," Mack says, her chin resting on the edge of the cart, looking up at him with big, innocent eyes, even though I know she's trying to one-up him.
"You know, I keep hearin' you talk about auditions, but I don't think I've ever seen you perform," I say, 'cause maybe once on the island, but since I try not to freak him out with stories of him being there, I figure it shouldn't count.
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Mack pulls herself up to the edge of the cart, talking about their pets, and I can't quite resist reaching out to ruffle her hair slightly. Not enough to mess it up. (And I know my limits with hair well.)
"You've got me beat, honey," I tell her, before grinning faintly at Neil. "Mmm. Well, I'd love to perform if anyone ever gave me proper access to a stage. And people to act off of. I could do a monologue and all, but it's really getting to collaborate with other people that I like the most in theater. Alas, no one's put that kind of faith in me just yet."
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"I thought you were a singer," I say, though I can vaguely remember him acting, before. After I quit the council, I didn't have as much reason to follow the arts like I had been.
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I figure kids must like having actual jobs to fulfill.
"Anyway, I am a singer. Or, well, in the sense that I sang in high school show choir, meaning I haven't had any professional voice training or the like, although I am taking vocal lessons now. I'm majoring in musical theater. My dream's been Broadway for a pretty long time."