last friday night

I've never been in a position to experience the Hollywood movie standard for a Friday night out in the city. Never been even close to being able to see what all the fuss about Gossip Girl and its setting of unrealistic standards is about. Lima doesn't have much of a night scene, particularly not for the young and out man, and even though I've been in Darrow for nearly a year now, I haven't found reason or space to party until now. It's not my thing. It's not what I do, it's not what I prefer; I'd rather spend the night curled up on my couch with a friend, a bowl of popcorn on my lap, with the city lights gently filtering into the room.

Well, until now, anyway. Now, whenever I settle in for a quiet Friday evening, I'm simply reminded of how much has been missing since breaking up with Blaine. It's not that I need him, really. I don't think I'm quite that codependent. But when you get used to something, when it becomes part and parcel of your regular life, having that suddenly changed isn't fun. It always takes a period of adjustment.

And after being good for the first month of our break-up, I just want a change.

That's why I've called up Neil. That's why I asked him for ideas, that's why we're going clubbing. I've decided to invite a little bit of spice, silver eyeshadow blended above my eyelids with a hint of green at the edge. Liquid eyeliner. Bright clothes to match.

If I'm not going to be myself, I may as well dress up as the person I want to be. Colorful. Fun. Confident.

A knock sounds on the door, and I call out, "Coming!" From my side, Cat immediately grows tense, meowing in distaste as I tread towards the front door. She'll whine at me up until I open the door, then probably glower at the newcomer before retreating. She hasn't taken to anyone other than me just yet.

I'm curious to see if she ever grows fond of my friends. For a small, white little furry thing, she comes off as pretty darn judgmental.

disappear — yeah, well, you wanna try

Kurt wakes up with a jolt to the sharp sound of Cat meowing from a good three feet away. His face is smashed into the cushions, and a quick brush of his fingers tells Kurt that the imprint of the fringe is deep and clear over his cheeks. The world doesn't pound yet, but it spins, and as he pulls himself up into a seated position, Kurt immediately remembers flashes from earlier in the evening — colorful lights, pulsing music, the sharp hint of alcohol in the air and bodies pressed close on the dance floor. Suddenly, the apartment feels too empty as he tries to piece everything together, step by step, rubbing at his eyes until his gaze falls on his cat.

"Don't judge," he warns with a pointed finger, yawning as he gets to his feet and nearly stumbles down again.

There are certain details which are oddly clear, while the rest of the world remains heavy and hidden under a blur. For instance, the unlocked chain of the door means that Neil was the one to send him home. The trash bin by the side of his couch means that he's had a lot more to drink than he ever has before. And, suddenly, more than anything else, Kurt remembers that he hasn't checked his mail today. He usually checks it at the end of the day, before his nightly shower, wanting a pile to go through before bed and whatever relevant letters waiting for him when he first wakes up.

And he just... hasn't checked his mail today.

So, with a groan and a stretch, and a pair of rolled eyes directed at Cat, Kurt stands up as straight as he can, striding directly for the door. He still feels... well, dizzy. Like the world doesn't matter. Like...

"There's a moment you know you're fucked!" he sings as he heads down the stairwell, conscious enough not to want to run into anyone on the elevator. "Not an inch more room to self-destruct. No more moves, oh yeah, the dead-end zone. Man, you just can't call your soul your own."

It's nice to sing and just not care who overhears.