likesboys | tough leather.

Entry tags:

tough leather.

So here's what you missed on Glee:

Kurt spent his last days as seventeen in the company of friends, specifically throwing a birthday bash with Santana — ("We're turning eighteen, not eighty.") — and Puck, and being rather aghast at the fact that the latter slept with Betty Rizzo and didn't even know it — ("Don't even look at me like that, man. I haven't seen Grease a million frickin' times. I don't get a boner from musicals, like you do."). Things got exciting as soon as Kurt experienced his first consensual kiss — ("Alright?" "Yes.") — but things fell apart a bit after Maxxie told Kurt that he wasn't really in the mind for a date — ("You're not pressuring, I just... can't. I can't do that really. Sorry."). Poor Kurt.

And that's what you missed on... Glee!

There got to be a certain point in every kid's life when fear turned into anger. Cowardice, into defiance. For all that the island scared Kurt Hummel more than the halls of McKinley ever would, with sentient toys seemingly hellbent on killing them all, he found that after a time, he couldn't simply shut himself up in his hut anymore. He couldn't fall into a gripping fear every single time he tried stepping out and into the open. Plenty of people had given him the run-down, explaining that these types of occurrences were normal on the island, but also relatively infrequent; that, if the island turned into hell for an hour, it likely wouldn't return there for weeks on end. And Kurt understood, he really did.

But only after he'd beaten himself out of that immediate and gripping fear did he finally strike out again, mind holding onto whatever details it could, whatever wouldn't send him drowning in the very same feeling that drove him to Dalton. Today, that emotion was anger, a low and simmering bubble as Kurt cursed himself for being the only one on the island with such seemingly thin skin.

In any number of areas.

Today, as soon as sewing class was done, he shoved his materials into his basket and practically shoved it into the drawer that he so rarely used; more often than not, Kurt felt the impulse to take his sewing kit back to his hut, mending clothes, altering them. In that moment, however, he was pretty certain that he wouldn't want to see it again until next lesson. So to hell with it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Sewing class has become one of the highlights of Grace's week, if she's completely honest. Of course, she prefers ballet class and always will, even though she finds a great deal of her class time devoted to making sure that she's concentrating more on her dancing than on Tony Stonem. She's fully aware of how ridiculous it is at this point, but that doesn't make Monday and Thursday mornings any easier.

Today, as she's putting her things away, Grace is a bit surprised at the force with which Kurt puts his sewing materials away. She spent most of class thinking that perhaps she was reading too much into his mood, but she can't just let it go, now.

"I'm not sure what the drawer's done to you, but I think you've taught it a lesson," she says, trying her best not to sound like she's prying.

If there's anything that Kurt Hummel can say about Grace Violet, it would be that he's pretty sure anyone would be hard-pressed to lie to her face. Although they haven't known each other for very long, Kurt feels that he's never had a reason to see Grace as anything but supportive, beautiful, the type of girl that one would want to hide behind glass to admire, if not for the strong spine of steel that one can also observe in her, the one that demands to be let out into the world, turning and dancing and whirling all at once.

A princess, perhaps, but one constantly running from those who would draw a fencing around her.

In fact, it's only her presence that calms Kurt for the time being, a quick arch of his brow aimed in her direction before he shakes his head. "The drawer hasn't done anything," he confesses, not planning on lying to her if she asks. "But it's a very convenient scapegoat, and one that I'm hoping, against all odds, won't fight back."

Grace presses her lips into a thin line and frowns. Maybe it would have been better if she hadn't said anything at all. She nods, folding a piece of fabric possibly smaller than it really needs to be folded.

She can understand his apprehension with simply blabbing his problems to someone he's only been acquainted with a few weeks; Grace had known Mini and Liv for what seemed like ages, and she hated feeling as if she'd dumped her problems on them. It's not as if her problems are more important than anyone else's.

"Kurt," she says, looking down at her hands for the moment, "I know that we haven't known each other very long, but if you ever want something more than just a scapegoat for... for whatever it is, 'd listen."

The last thing that Kurt honestly wants to do is to get Grace worried over something which Kurt is at least partially to blame for. He's seen the way that teens behave at school, he knows that flirtation doesn't necessarily mean anything at all. That a friendship or a relationship is only so much as both involved parties want to make it, and he was foolish enough not to ask before diving straight in. His own lack of foresight is to blame here, and the frustration of knowing that only seems to twist even more in his stomach as he glances over at her with a small shake of his head.

"I would come to you with everything if I could, Grace, believe me. I know a good listener when I see one," he replies with a raise of his brow. "But I just don't know how cathartic it'd be to go on at length about my inability to read a boy's signs correctly. If anything, it might only prove more frustrating. The sort of thing that'd make me swear a vow of celibacy, or at least swear that my love is only meant for the stage."

"Oh," Grace says, because even though he hasn't gone into any detail, it already sounds familiar to her. It sounds almost like what happened with her and Tony. They'd danced, they'd kissed while camping, but all along, he hadn't really been interested. Grace is sure that she was to blame for some of it, because it had been truth or dare, and the dancing had happened while they were both certainly off their faces at a rave.

"I think that must be going around, then." she adds. It's some sort of horrible irony, that the boy Grace had found herself liking had turned out to like boys, and it sounds almost as if the same thing's happened to Kurt, only in reverse.

Now this is an interesting development. And, no matter how much guilt he may feel at transferring the burden from one pair of shoulders to the other, Grace's small remark alone is able to pull Kurt back from his own roiling thoughts for the first time in days. (Ridiculous as it is, absurd as it is that a little kiss would end up occupying his mind more than being away from his father, or being trapped on an island where Broadway wasn't even accessible.) Pausing to consider whether or not inquiring further would be too much, Kurt finally decides to go for it all the same, feeling anger bleed away into sympathy. This is what he's needed. A good girl talk, and no girl talk is complete without—

"Ice cream?" he asks, suddenly. "I think there's ice cream in the freezer, and we could force everyone to clear out of the immediate vicinity of the projector in the rec room, maybe put on a few movies as background noise. Whatever we do, I think— correct me if I'm wrong— that maybe both of us could benefit from getting some of this off our chests."

"I think that's a perfect idea," Grace says, and her expression brightens, because the prospect of that is a much more favorable one than the two of them sitting alone in a classroom talking about where they've gone wrong with boys on the island or elsewhere.

In fact, it reminds of her lazy weekend duvet days with Mini and Liv, and she only wishes that she felt comfortable enough with the compound that she could watch in pyjamas. It's one of the things she misses the most about home; there's hardly anywhere that she feels comfortable enough to do that sort of thing, and her hut is so quiet, all the time. It's lonelier there than she likes to admit.

She's still not entirely comfortable with the idea of burdening him with her problems, but ice cream and old films are a therapy all their own.

"And I've actually been having good luck with the bookshelf this week."

With a brief parting smile aimed at the few other stragglers in the classroom (and a few unfamiliar faces that Kurt suspects are part of the next class to use the room), Kurt stands and guides the both of them out, holding the door open neatly for Grace in a gesture that seems to be almost necessary, for a girl like her. Pleasantries and chivalry from an age ago. He knows full well how Grace is able to mold and adapt herself at will and according to whatever situation she faces, but the girl that really seems to lie at the heart of it all, he thinks, is a girl who only wants the best for everyone. Both around her, and the greater world at large.

"Well, that's more than I can say for myself," Kurt admits in turn, shaking his head forlornly as he shuts the door lightly behind the both of them, turning down the hall and heading for the rec room. "Ever since I arrived, the bookshelf has been giving me nonstop pamphlets about the various universities I should be considering. Which, I suppose, amkes sense given that I'm less than two years away from embarking on that particular leg of my journey, but it's not exactly like any of these dreams will go realized on Tabula Rasa."

Slinging her bag over one shoulder, she follows him out, trying her best to suppress the frown that might ordinarily come from his statement. She's talked to her parents about Universities for years now; her father's already picked out several he approves of.

"Sometimes, I think it's cruel just because it can be. It only gave me Shakespeare plays for the longest time," Grace replies, hoping to make him feel better, since she's been through the same thing, "But I found people to trade with in the meantime."

"There are times when I wonder how much effort it'd really take to at least get a library going for the classics, but then I remember that what constitutes a 'classic' in everyone's time varies so much that we'd be stuck on that project for years, probably going about it for too long and too slowly for it to come of any use," Kurt admits, brushing a hand lightly over the back of his head and hoping that his hair's still perfectly coiffed. It was easier, he briefly thinks to himself, to keep his appearance in top form when lockers lined the halls and he had a mirror so nicely and conveniently fixed to the door.

With the island heat and humidity, he needs something like that more than ever.

"What's cruel about Shakespeare, though?" he asks, glancing at Grace as they turn towards the kitchen. "Love of Shakespeare? A specific audition? Can't stand his sonnets?"

The truth is, she doesn't like talking about it. She doesn't like to think about how many horrible memories are associated with her failed attempt at putting on Twelfth Night. Before she'd ended up on the island, it had been a disaster, worsened by her friends all fighting. And to top it all off, everything had been just awful between her and Rich.

Perhaps that's one of the main reasons that she doesn't like to think about the play; it reminds her of how much she misses everyone, Rich most of all.

"Twelfth Night was my final drama exam at college," she replies, and frowns a bit, "It wasn't turning out very well. I suppose the bookshelf knows, somehow."

"Duly noted," Kurt replies in turn, although his brow furrows not long after. "Although honestly, Grace, I get the feeling that you're being way, way too hard on yourself. You've got an eye for things like fashion, you're a great actress, and... you're surprisingly commanding when you take it upon yourself to make people listen. Seriously. Another force entirely."

It isn't all said to comfort her, either. There really is something about Grace that Kurt isn't sure that he can entirely understand. Something about her having many sides, facets, and it isn't always easy to tell which are real and which aren't. Maybe they all are, in a way. Kurt just hasn't known a lot of people like that in his life.

Everyone's pretty one-dimensional at McKinley. Quinn aside, perhaps.

"Or, I mean, if the memory's that bad, you could always put on an island production. I'm sure there are plenty of people here who would help guarantee its perfection."

Grace is flattered by the compliment even if she's not sure that she agrees. None of that had been enough to salvage things back home, so even if what Kurt says is true, she's not sure it matters much.

"Thanks," she says, as they take a turn towards the rec room, "though a production here wouldn't really be the same, would it?"

There's still the mess of a play left waiting for her at home, for whenever she finds her looking glass, pair of silver slippers or wardrobe. Making it a reality on the island doesn't change things at all.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Kurt asks, raising a brow curiously. "Unless you mean by virtue of your friends being missing, which I'd understand. Not having my classmates here... from either McKinley or Dalton, really, requires a bit of an adjustment. I'm used to my friend Rachel being able to chirp out the highest notes or my other friend Mercedes belting it all out. Or Blaine— close friend of mine, and insanely talented to the point that I'm a jealous mess around him." He shrugs both shoulders, trying to hide the fact that even talking about those he's left behind is a trial.

"Point is, you might be missing wonderful people from home, but we've got folks who are just as talented here on the island. And we've certainly got the means to pull it off. Given that currency isn't required for much of anything over here. As long as you're willing to wait long enough by the clothes box, you'll find what you need."

The point of her friends being in Twelfth Night was never that they were the most talented. She'll admit, that in many ways, so many of them were absolutely perfect for their roles— Alo as Sir Toby Belch, Franky as Viola— but a lot of the trust that she'd had in her cast had come from the fact that they were her best friends. So while putting on a production of that play is one thing, it wouldn't be her version of it. Not, really. At least not the one she really wants.

"You know, you're absolutely right," she says to Kurt, not wanting to press the matter, content to play the part for now, to agree with him even if she truly doesn't, "I wonder if Mr. Madrox might let me do something for acting class. I'll have to ask."

The quick turnaround leaves Kurt silent for a couple of seconds. He doesn't want to, of course, discount the possibility that she actually has decided to take his words to heart— it's always preferable to think that one's words have had somewhat of an effect, and Kurt knows that when he relentlessly pursues a point or a stance, chances are he'll manage to sway some people in one way or another. But at the same time, the only point in putting up a production at all is if the producer is completely enthusiastic for the idea, and thus have the energy to see it through to the end. If Grace doesn't have that, the last thing that Kurt wants to do is to make her feel worse for it, or as though she hasn't accomplished enough already.

"You don't need to automatically be swayed to my side," he reassures her, a hand splayed over his chest. "I'm not going to push you to produce anything, but as long as you're aware of the possibility."

"I think you've completely underestimated my love of Shakespeare," Grace replies, and her smile is the same one that she gives her father at home. Of course she does love Shakespeare, and under different circumstances, she'd absolutely love to put on a production, but now is not that time. There are certain levels of truth, and this is the one she's chosen for the moment, the one that will hopefully lead them to a different subject entirely.

It's much easier to help the conversation along once they've entered the rec room, however.

"So. What are you in the mood for? Perhaps if we hope for the opposite of that, we'll be able to trick the bookshelf into giving us exactly what we want."

"Possibly. I'm more of a Sondheim fan, personally, but I have nothing against Shakespeare setting the stage for the rest of us," Kurt remarks with a tilt of his head, gaze momentarily skirting towards the ceiling as he thinks about the merits of one versus the other. It's always been the combination of music and performance that's drawn him to musicals in particular, and while Kurt's sure that he'd be able to fare decently in a regular production, without song, he's not sure that he'd be half as excited. Not sure that he'd be able to pull together as much energy for it. (For Grace, though, he would, he tells himself. She's a friend, and someone worth going the extra mile for.)

Lips curving, Kurt crosses his arms delicately over his chest once they're inside the rec room, the dreaded bokshelf standing only a few feet away. "Hmm... well, honestly, I'm not sure that there's much I wouldn't go for right now," he admits. "Wicked would be fun, though."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

tough leather.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject