Kurt Hummel

Leaving the apartment has become an increasing struggle in recent weeks. The fact that new year's day turned out as disastrously for Darrow as it did only makes Kurt feel more justified in spending more time at home. He's been grabbing fewer hours of work, and going into spring semester, he'll have a slightly lighter class schedule than before. Slowly, he's trying to ease everything down, finding a balance of work and home that sways towards the latter, giving him more of an opportunity to spend time with Blaine.

This is always what happens, he thinks. Losing someone, whether metaphorically or literally, makes him want to camp out at home, with the people he loves, savoring every second that he has with them. It might be uninspired, cuddling up with Blaine on the couch and watching film after film, but it feels safe and it feels sustainable and it feels right.

The problem is, pulling the least of one's weight isn't good for retail. The amount he gets on commission is lessening, and the patience of his manager along with it. Unless Kurt wants to throw everything at that job again, he needs to find some way to make up the difference, and he wants to try. He wants to see if there's any way that he can keep the household comfortable, while still spending more time at home.

Which is why he's hanging up fliers for voice lessons on the corkboard at The Bean Counter, carefully stepping back to make sure that he's pinned it level with the frame.

"You think anyone will actually take me up on this?" he murmurs to himself with a soft sigh. He's not too hopeful that he'll find students, but honestly, even one would be nice. Singing is always a good release of tension and emotion, and spreading the joy of it to more people is something Kurt doesn't think he'd ever tire of, if they only gave him the opportunity.

For all that Kurt knows the dangers of golden age syndrome, he still feels after all these years that there is no greater ideal of romance than what classic Hollywood put forth decades ago. Flowers and music, the twining of fingers, one raised to brush down the line of a lover's jaw. A Vespa ride through Rome, a boating ride into the sea, a misty embrace next to a departing train.

It might be an example of reaching too far and too high. After all, real life isn't always like the movies. At least, it doesn't end when the movies do.

But that doesn't mean Kurt won't keep trying to attain those small moments of perfection, fleeting but enough.

He's carefully made his plans for Blaine's birthday, a top hat jauntily placed on his head and a neat suit on his shoulders, nice enough that he carefully wipes down the fence right outside of Blaine's apartment window before leaning back against it. He's here, right when Blaine should be getting up and going about his morning routine, a large bouquet of red roses in hand.

Just red roses, this time.

Tipping his hat down over his brow, Kurt glances shyly over his shoulder, at the window with its blinds still shut. It's chilly, but that'll only help his voice more.

"I have often walked down this street before, but the pavement always stayed beneath my feet before. All at once am I several stories high, knowing I'm on the street where you live," he starts, voice clear and lower than usual as he pushes off the fence and steps across the sidewalk. "Are there lilac trees in the heart of town? Can you hear a lark in any other part of town? Does enchantment pour out of every door? No, it's just on the street where you live."

As he hoped, a few other residents of the building are also awake at this hour, curiously peeking their heads out down at the street. The sight of a little girl tilting her head curiously brings a smile to Kurt's face, and he waves.

"And oh, the towering feeling, just to know somehow you are near," he sings, an ache settling in his chest as he reaches out with a hand, wrapping it around a bar of the fence, shivering at the touch. "The overpowering feeling that any second, you may suddenly appear."

He spots movement by the window, pushing onto his toes curiously.

"People stop and stare, they don't bother me, for there's nowhere else that I would rather be," Kurt sings, building excitement as he presses his bouquet close to his chest. "Let the time go by, I won't care if I can be here on the street where you live."

There's always something unnerving about a watch that comes to a full stop. In Darrow, Kurt's first instinct is always to look at the city around him, trying to pinpoint whether or not anything else is off, if anything else should serve as cause for alarm. Fortunately, today there's no dust descending from the sky, no indication that traffic's any different than usual. Just a pocketwatch that came to the end of its life.

Sighing, Kurt runs his fingers through his hair, and decides that the watch matters just enough to him that he's willing to shell out money for repairs.

After firing a quick text to Gavin to explain his absence and spending a good half hour on consoling Cat, Kurt slathers on sunscreen to deal with the quickly increasing amounts of summer sun, then sets out to find the nearest watch shop. His smartphone sends him to a little store a few blocks away, clocks hung on the walls from floor to ceiling, each more ornate than the last.

If they can't figure out how to fix his pocketwatch, Kurt suspects no one can.

He steps inside the shop, wandering through the antiques while he waits to be addressed.

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.

Anger isn't the right word for what Kurt feels towards Blaine, but sometimes he thinks that it's the best way to describe how he's acted. He hasn't taken a single call, hasn't answered most of Blaine's texts, and he's been careful to try and find new paths to any classes that they share. He's carefully avoided having to step by Blaine's hall, carefully avoided their usual hangouts and restaurants, keeping himself away from places he knows can only upset him at this point in time.

Anger would make it easier to live in a similar space as Blaine, but what Kurt feels is nothing short of an ache that worms into his chest and squeezes every day, every second, enough that Kurt feels like he can hardly breathe.

The approach of Valentine's Day only makes it worse.

He's both surprised and not to find a present left at his doorstep when he readies himself to head to the grocery store. Picking up the CD and the flowers, Kurt carefully glances both ways down the hall before stepping back inside, filling the vase on the kitchen table before he can stop himself. Because... well, you can't return flowers.

You just can't.

But he does plan on returning the CD, fingers carefully tracing over the cover art and hesitating, his heart lurching when it becomes clear that this isn't any professional job. There's something on this CD that you can't find in stores, something that Blaine's likely put together on his own.

So Kurt slips into their — his bedroom, sliding the disc into his player and hesitantly starting it.

Ten minutes later, he's crying, tears falling heavy and hot into his pillow.

An hour later, he's punching in Blaine's number on his phone.

Taking him off speed dial didn't help Kurt forget the number.

Most of the time, Kurt likes his job. Genuinely. There's little more that pleases his various neuroses and pent-up energy than working in a clothing store that operates on commission. It doesn't matter what shape or background a person has, Kurt Hummel can find something in the store that's a hell of a lot more flattering on their person than whatever they came in wearing.

But for the past couple of weeks, the clothing store's offered very little catharsis for the ache that constantly twists at his heart, dragging down his smile and honestly worrying him when it comes to whether or not they'll even want to keep him around at this rate.

He's not the best salesman these days.

Something about not wearing a smile as soon as people drop in.

Still, he does the best he can, and some loyal customers still seek him out knowing that he can put a good look together even when feeling glum. Chewing on his lower lip, he mills through the store, folding clothes back up and hanging them on the proper racks when the automatic sliding doors open for a familiar face. Glancing over his shoulder, Kurt manages a faint grin, setting down a jacket and making his way on over.

"Haven't seen you in a while," he says, and the smile just feels weighty on his face, but he's trying.

For the weeks leading up to my first shooting lesson with Neil, what concerns me most is my wardrobe. No, I'm serious. Going into an establishment like that, I assume that the only thing I'll have going for me is my sharp and ineffable sense of confidence, something best shown through my threads. Goodness only knows that there's no guarantee that my aim will be any good. I'm passable at mini-golf, but put me on an actual field and I'm done for. Glee club's given me the strength enough to try a hand at archery, but I'll sooner hit the target next to the one I'm actually aiming for.

So, if I'm not a good shot, the only thing I have going for me is... me.

Great.

Fashion's my strength. Staring down my nose at people for their choices, another strength. But I don't know what the conditions of the range will be like. Potentially filthy. Does gunpowder pose a problem?

We may never know.

In the end, I'm dressed in clothes that will mask any mishaps well — a checkered, worn shirt from the thrift store that still hugs my waist well, and a pair of worn gray skinny jeans.

All that done, the nervousness finally sinks in when the both of us arrive at the range and it immediately becomes clear how out of my element I am.

"Hoo boy," I breathe.

Tonight is one of the moments that Kurt's been eagerly waiting for ever since he started watching college flicks back in his middle school days. As much as he claims to turn his nose up at the idea of debauchery for its own sake, there's also something about it that intrigues him, a loosening of collars and letting down of hair between a group of people who are at that point in their lives, chaotic and wanting little more than to explore. This is what being young should be all about, and these are the last years that they have before adulthood slams down on all of them with its weighted responsibilities, and Kurt plans to soak up every last second of it: his first college party.

Truth be told, there have been a few other opportunities since the start of term in September, ones that slipped Kurt by in his flurry of auditions and general college-related panic. But Kurt thinks that there's something said for making a later entrance than most, and he can think of little time better than for a party specifically catered to his strengths — it's Halloween night, and the party organizers have requested that everyone comes in costume. On his part, Kurt may have spent a bit more time than necessary putting together a tailored and flattering replica of James Dean's iconic outfit from Rebel Without A Cause, but one look at how the jeans hug his hips so well, and Kurt files the thought away as time well spent.

But when he steps inside the suite, a large and open space shared by four seniors, and finds himself greeted only by a handful of people awkwardly lingering in the corners, Kurt immediately reconsiders.

Maybe this isn't the grand entrance he was hoping for.


[ Dated to Halloween evening (which probably explains the poor state of the party, because Wednesday night, smh). Create a ruckus, spike the punch, or take off early with another partygoer and leave the poor excuse for a party behind! If you'd like to thread with Kurt, just let me know somehow in your top-level (he's not getting one of his own). More info here. ]

Strange as the displacement in time has been, if there's one thing that Kurt's seized pretty quickly upon, it's the idea of an extended summer break. With all the new things to grow accustomed to in Darrow, even trying to imagine piling school on top of everything else has been too much for Kurt, who's found himself far more focused on the idea that ghosts can be real, that monsters can be real, that this city somehow truly is keeping them closed in without any foreseeable means of leaving. While some part of him wonders how it's become so easy to ignore the thought of fighting to go home, another part only sees it as an inevitability. He's barely able to hold himself together in Darrow, and what holds him together most is routine. Patterns that he can follow.

Living with Blaine has been one of the very few, if not only enjoyable parts to Darrow, so he clings to that, and the life he's built around that other person.

But if he really does expect to be living in Darrow for any amount of time, it's also become pretty clear that Kurt needs to finish school. Testing for the Darrow equivalent of a GED is easy enough — truthfully, he probably should have just finished up the missing credits over the summer, but he doesn't have his records on him, and the Darrowites are alarmingly welcoming of quick transfers besides — but it's acting, singing, musical theater that Kurt wants to start building on in the fall.

So he takes a walk by one of the local colleges, wondering if there's even a chance that he'll find a rewarding experience there.

Part of the reason why Kurt enjoyed classic Hollywood films was definitely the portrayal of romance. Beneath all of the critiques that people liked to make in modern times about how problematic chivalry could be, Kurt just loved the idea of that level of consideration. Of being pampered for a time, shielded for a time, liked the idea of little touches and subtler ways of asking permission. Loved the aesthetic of it, the image of two people walking a step slower than the rest, closer than the rest, the world halting around them as they headed down a busy street. He loved the way that the romance could often be the center of the picture, no need for action, no need for explosions or giant, dystopian societies. Just two people gravitating towards one another in a world which stopped for no one.

It felt true to life, perhaps. Understated and intimate.

In Darrow, he's made sure to set aside plenty of evenings to share such stories with Blaine. Not every night has to be a date night, with the both of them heading towards the swankier restaurants in town — no, sometimes evenings are best kept casual between the two of them, both having gone their own way for the majority of the day, then coming back together to share their experiences, murmured stories rising above the volume of the television. Oftentimes, they start while seated primly on their own cushions, but only manage to meld together over time, hands intertwined and feet bumping against one another — sometimes purposefully, sometimes by accident. Perhaps more than anything else, Kurt likes it when they rest their heads on one another's shoulders, close enough to press a kiss at a second's notice, or to share whispers in close confidence. Today, he's the one who's taken up space on Blaine's shoulder, nudging his nose occasionally against the line of Blaine's jaw, planting a kiss there when Breakfast at Tiffany's reaches one of its slower scenes.

What he might love most about these films now, Kurt thinks, is the fact that he doesn't have to sigh in longing when they reach their end. Not anymore. Not when he has the real thing by his side, day after day. The fact that they'll probably be taking the next step in only a matter of hours thrums through his chest, skin tingling with excitement. But for now, Kurt keeps his kisses light, chaste, never wanting to pressure Blaine. After all, they have plenty of time.