[A/N]: Just my lame attempt at writing badboy!blaine, I hope it's not too bad. :)
The lawns are green, bright green, trimmed daily. The houses are big, grand, expensive. Everything that can be seen, be touched; from the fancy, extravagant cars to even just the air you breath in screams upper-class.
Kurt breezes down the street without a second glance, without even a care in the world. He's used to it, this is his home.
The sun can barely be seen across the horizon, the sky tinted with the silky lilacs and blues of twilight. It's getting late, more of those top notch cars round the corner to enter The Avenue and slot into their respective driveways. People file into their homes, faces blurred, every which one seemingly the same as the other.
Most of all it's calm, though, nobody wants to pull too much attention to themselves. In these kinds of societies it's always best to lay low. To mind your own business. Gossip spreads fast, it's best to keep what you know to yourself. You don't step out of line, you just stand there and look pretty—better than everyone else, everyone that can't afford what you can. And in some way, whether you mean it or not, you help spread that false sense of aristocracy, somewhat, because once your a part of a neighbourhood like this, there's no turning back. You're sucked in, morphed, changed into something indistinguishable. The worst thing is though—you don't even know that it's happening. Until it's too late, that is.
With the soft 'tap-tap' of designer boots on the pavement, Kurt walks down the street. Nose upturned and back ramrod straight. Eyes cold, challenging, emotionless, narrowing at whoever deems to look his way. An air of narcissism circles him.
He's a prime example of what being brought up in The Avenue can make of a person, or—that's what it seems, anyway. With his somewhat boastful demeanor. With his irrevocable 'I'm much better than you' attitude. But still, even then, he's quiet. He keeps to himself. He hardly ever even talks.
He's beautiful, yes, but he's also broken.
It had all started quite a few year ago, with Burt and Ellie's sudden move from Lima. It seemed to have happened practically overnight. One day the residents of The Avenue were stuck just driving past that charming, yet unoccupied manor at the end of the street, on the corner, at the entrance, and then the next—bam! New neighbours.
It was quite a rare occurrence, that, since normally, if planning to move into The Avenue, the current residents would already know every single little detail of your life months before you'd even moved in. That wasn't the case with the Hummels, though. They were new, exciting—unexpected.
They were different, that was clear, and their neighbours just couldn't quite decide whether that was a good thing or not. Whether it was okay. Whether it would tarnish their immaculate reputation in any way, at some point. That was the problem.
When they'd arrived—sick and tired of prejudiced looks, of the judgemental frowns, of the gossip, of the icy environment—Burt and Ellie were only young, young and in love. They longed for independence, a life of their own. They'd run away. Run away from their families, from the people who loved them. They'd run away from denied acceptance, looming looks and snide glances. Lima hadn't wanted them. They were different, they were wrong. They were too young, once ago.
They don't want to bring a kid up like that, they want her—maybe him—to be happy, to be loved. So they'd run. Packed their bags in the dead of night and were gone long before the sun rose.
Burt's job as a mechanic had done them well in the long haul, even if Ellie's parents had deemed it unsuitable for their daughter. It had won them enough money to branch out into other parts of Ohio, into somewhere where, maybe, just maybe, they'd once and for all find sanctuary, a home.
Never would they have imagined that they'd be able to afford a spot on The Avenue, one of the most prestigious and high-class parts of the Westerville district. It seems surreal at first, but with time they settle down, learn to adapt, and everything just seems to go on perfectly from there. Everything falls into place.
It's not long after that that Kurt—their son—is born, and with that their new life at The Avenue finally seems to take it's course. People from neighbouring houses coming to visit them quite often, struck by the sheer innocence, beauty of Kurt that they just couldn't keep away.
The Hummels were new, the Hummels were different.
And soon enough they're sucked in. Pocked and prodded until they're just a mere shred of the person they once were. Burt becomes declined, burying himself in his work and is hardly ever at home. Ellie pays it no mind, blinded by the feeling of self-importance that flows through her body with all the attention she gets from everyone else. She frequents fancy galas, and has afternoon tea with all the rest of their pompous neighbours nearly every other day, barely making time for Kurt, barely realising what she's turning herself into.
Kurt is left to spend his time with the maid, Annie. Ellie's reason being that they pay her for something, the cleaning and the cooking being not nearly enough. So Annie, at the tender age of nineteen, takes on the job of caring for Kurt. Caring for the beautiful, yet confused little boy who'd been so easily thrown aside by, once, doting and caring parents.
His eyes are big, wide, glistening. They shine at all times. Their colour quite hard to pinpoint, a lovely mixture of blues, greens and greys. His skin is pale white, not at all sickly though, not in the least. Porcelain is what comes to mind when you first eye him. A small scatter of freckles adorns his cheeks.
Big wide orbs look up at you and you're blown away, blown away by the sheer innocence, the difference they have from other little kids eyes, the beauty. Situations like this always entail fawning, cooing from many of Ellie's new group of elite friends.
His neck tends to take on a tinge of pink, the same tinge that laces up to his ears and twirls around to his cheeks in a blush. He sometimes tries to make it go away, hands curled into tiny fists and rubbing insistently into his face. This only earns him more cooes and pinches of the cheek by all those strange, screeching women his mom calls friends.
Kurt really doesn't know what to think of it.
Kurt's hair is really soft, Annie thinks as she cards the brush through his chestnut locks, standing behind little Kurt as he stares at himself in his vanity. She thinks about how wide and pure his eyes look. How sweet and adorable he is.
She's really grown close to him over these past few years. And he's grown to be extremely dependent on her, too. It breaks her heart, though, to think about what he must be going through. To have seen how, with growing up, that small innocent boy has changed so much.
He looks exactly like his mother.
She shakes her head, ridding herself of such thoughts. He looks just how his mother used to look like. That petite, lovely woman that had first hired Annie all those years ago. With the bubbly personality, the bright eyes and the warm smile. The woman kind enough to offer shelter to a little girl who had lost her way, who had been stripped of everything she loved and cared for. She was wonderful, she was perfect. But then she changed, and now Annie doesn't even recognize her.
She sighs, running her hands through Kurt's silky hair, smiling fondly at how his eyes squint in a sort of glare.
Burt's barely at home now, either, spending most of his time fixing cars in the garage trying to keep his mind off of the impending situation that is his wife's well-fare. Ellie has changed, and not for the better. She's not doing good, everybody can see it.
Her skin is pale, sickly, and her hair has lost all it's shine. Her eyes are blank and her face emotionless. She drinks a lot, too, but Annie tries to push those thoughts to the back of her mind.
It's been a year and half since she got diagnosed with cancer. It's been a year and a half since she's known she doesn't have that much longer to live. It's been a year and a half since she realised how she's been wasting her life. Too intent on money and prosperity, neglecting her family, her son.
But she'd still resigned herself to spend any time with him, closing in on herself and completely cutting off from Burt and Kurt. If she only had little longer to live, she didn't want to spend it with them. Didn't want to learn to love them again, and then have that taken away from her. Didn't want to give her little Kurt the chance of having a mother to love and that loved him back, just so that it would be ripped away from his little hands at such a tender age.
So she'd turned to drink, and there'd been no more talk on the matter.
Hoisting Kurt up, Annie carries him downstairs. He wraps his arms and legs around her, keeping himself secure, and then rests his head atop her shoulder. Muttering excitedly about all the things he wants to do at the park today. Annie can't help but let her mind drift to thoughts of how brave Kurt must be, at the tender age of seven, to be blatantly ignored by both parents and still be so lively. So happy.
She thanks god that he hasn't turned jaded, cynical, and that he doesn't let it get to him. That he powers through it without a care in the world. That now, whenever he asks Annie when his mommy and daddy are gonna come visit him and the only he answer he gets is 'they're busy, honey, maybe some other time', he barely even lets his face fall. Doesn't even look the least bit disappointed, the least bit sad, unwanted.
Sometimes Annie wishes she knew how to read his mind, know what he's thinking, know that he really is okay. That he's not just keeping it all in so other people won't see how weak he is. How vulnerable. But then again, he's only seven.
So she nods, once again pushing all unwanted thoughts far away to the back of her mind. She kisses the top of his head as she buckles him into the back seat of the car. Chuckles fondly at Kurt when he beams up at her, kissing her cheek before she moves away.
And he's beautiful, she thinks, inside and out.
Kurt has decided that he absolutely hates Rachel Berry. Or at least—he really dislikes her, since Annie says that hate is a really not-nice word.
Rachel thinks that she's great, that she's better than Kurt and—Kurt doesn't like that. People tell him he's perfect and really pretty all the time. People never say that to Rachel Berry. And she's really loud, her voice grates at his ears. She screeches. And she always wants to play Little Mermaid when Kurt is at the park and she always wants to play Ariel and—no, Kurt wants to play Ariel. He doesn't like being Prince Eric.
Rachel Berry is stupid.
Or at least that's the only thing that goes through Kurt's mind that day, at the park, surrounded by little girls and their mothers fawning over him. Rachel Berry sits at the other end of the park, alone, on a swing, looking longingly in Kurt's direction. Kurt wants to go and play because, even though he doesn't like her, anything sounds better now than being cornered by all these old ladies and their screaming daughters.
Screaming daughters with sticky hands that keep trying to touch Kurt's clothes and—no, that's unacceptable. He tries to discreetly move away.
It's not like he doesn't like the attention, anything but, he welcomes it. It's just that…sometimes it gets a bit too much. Unbearable. Kurt feels like he's trapped.
He looks towards Rachel Berry again but, she no longer looks at him, she's preoccupied talking to her daddies. Because she has two and—and Kurt doesn't even know what to think about it but at least that's better than having no parents at all, right? Or parents that ignore you. Parents that don't want you.
He sniffles a bit, looking away and stubbing his foot into the ground, making small circles. His hands tangle together behind his back as he looks up at all the looming faces of the cooing adults, as his eyes jump from head to head of their screeching and whining children. Sticky children.
Kurt really hates Rachel Berry, especially in moments like this when, even though he's the center of attention, he still feels so empty and lost. As if he wasn't meant for all of this. Rachel Berry has two daddies. Two daddies that love her and—and Kurt has nothing. Nobody. It kills him.
He sniffles again, rubbing at his nose and shaking his head slightly. Annie always says not to let it show when he's sad, when he's feeling vulnerable. She always tells him to have courage, be brave and not let people think he's weak.
So he breaths in, looks up, and sends a dazzling smile towards his expectorates. Says the first mildly adorable thing that comes to his head and—already he's started them off again. They pinch his cheeks, they squeal. The little girls tug at his shirt, at his hands, at whatever they can touch to try and convince him to go and play with them.
He shakes his head, pointing over to where Annie had walked off to a few moments ago, asking the mothers there to mind Kurt while she was gone. She was one the phone, she looked worried.
He pays it no mind, telling the small crowd that has gathered around him that he's leaving soon and that they'll just have to play another day. He then smiles, for effect, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks over at Rachel Berry and—once again she's looking at him, taking her parents for granted and ignoring them completely, too intent on gazing jealously at Kurt.
And Kurt tries not to act too smug—he has this very incessant urge to poke his tongue out at her, but keeps this to himself in favour of looking too childish and immature—he knows that what Rachel Berry craves most is popularity. The spotlight. Everything that Kurt has, but doesn't need. Doesn't want.
All he wishes for are a mommy and daddy that love him as much as Rachel's daddies love her. Rachel has everything—in Kurt's mind—and she still wants more.
That's why Kurt Hummel really hates Rachel Berry—because she's selfish. Deep down though, he knows that he's selfish too. Kurt Hummel also really hates himself. Sometimes.
"Bring Kurt home." Is the first thing Annie hears when she answers her mobile phone. It's Burt, voice croaky but soft and instantly she knows something has happened. Something bad. Something horrible.
She places a hand on Kurt's shoulder, answering the questioning look shot her way by gripping the phone tighter and pointing away, by the trees, as if to say she'll be right back. Kurt nods, eyes shining but looking tired, and turns back to his crowd of admirers with a barely audible sigh.
"Mr. Hummel?" she asks tentatively, fiddling with one of the buttons of her pea-coat, tucking her nose deeper into her scarf. "Has something happened?"
And he takes a while to reply, Annie can hear the waver in his breathing through the phone. Burt's never been that good with words, mostly answering things with either a grunt or a scratch to the head. He's more of an actions kind of guy, but most of the time he has trouble expressing himself even through that. Breathing out slowly, he mutters "It's Ellie. She's in the hospital, she—she's not going to make it."
Annie gasps, biting her lip and nearly loosing her grip on the phone. She nods quickly, nervously even though she's aware that Burt can't actually see her. "I—yes, Mr. Hummel. I'll bring him straight home." A her thumb fumbles to find the end-call button.
Her mind has gone sort of fuzzy, she feels numb all over. Staggering her way over to the crowd of mothers and children that have surrounded Kurt, she can't bear to think what Burt must feel like. If she, the maid has gotten so worked up, imagine him. Him with his pent-up emotions. Him with his difficulty expressing himself. What will Burt do now, without Ellie? They may have not been as close as they once were but—one thing was obvious, Burt loved Ellie. That was one thing Annie was sure would never change. Just like Burt loved Kurt, even through his neglect. Just like Ellie, even in her darkest times, kept Burt and Kurt at the forefront of her mind.
"Kurt!" Annie calls out absently, hands clenching and unclenching at her sides.
The boy looks up, eyes wide and bright, smile big and teeth showing. His face falls slightly at her hunched over shoulders, at how worried, shocked she looks. He knows there's something wrong, he's smart, he can tell, Annie just wishes she was strong enough to show indifference. For Kurt, at least, so he can hear the news from his dad, from somebody close, from somebody he loves.
Annie doesn't talk, the colour drained from her face. She takes Kurt over to the car by the hand, the warmth from it the only reassuring thing in her haze.
The car ride home is stifling, the silence awkward. Annie can tell Kurt wants to ask why, by the way he fidgets in his seat, by the way his fingers tangle together in his lap, but she can't bring herself to say a word. She's not strong enough, she'll let Burt do it. Gripping the wheel tighter, she sighs, pulling into their home on The Avenue.
Kurt doesn't even wait for her to unbuckle him, doing it himself and shooting out of the car. She lets him go, watches him as she tries to calm down. Even the air feels thick with foreboding, as if something bad is going to happen. As if something bad has happened. She doesn't want to be there when Kurt finds out, it'll break her heart. He's the closest thing she has ever had to a child of her own, being ripped away from that privilege at the tender age of 17, kicked out of her home because of some silly mistake and left to fend for herself.
She breaths in. With a shake of the head she convinces herself not to think of those things. Kurt's not her baby, her baby is gone. Kurt belongs to Ellie, to Burt, to them—Annie should let go. But she can't deny how much he means to her, and seeing him hurt makes her hurt.
So she gets out of the car and slowly walks across the little path made across the lawn, from the white picket-fence to the stairs of the porch. It feels like an eternity has passed when she finally reaches the door, hand shaking slightly. She goes to grab the handle, pull it down and push open but she stops abruptly. Sobbing. She hears sobbing and—she can't go in there, she can't comfort Kurt, she can't even face him. She can't. She won't.
So she turns, heads back down the street aimlessly, teeth quivering from the cold and her breath coming out in puffs of what seemingly looks like smoke. She buries her nose in her scarf, breathing in the faint sent of vanilla and coconut that she always gets from carrying Kurt around. From having Kurt close. Her eyes clench shut at the memories of that night so long ago, alone and heartbroken in a hospital, a small little bundle in her arms that she knew she'd have to give up in a matter of minutes.
She might not know what it feels like losing a mother, but she definitely knows what it's like to lose a child. And deep down, though she tries to hide it, just how Kurt is like the son she never had, she is the mother he'd always longer for.
But in that moment, when Kurt is so hurt, fragile and vulnerable, when he's so needing of the comfort she has to offer—she can't muster up the strength to give it. To hold him in her arms and tell him everything will be okay. She's selfish. After all that Kurt has given her, unknowingly but still, after all those years that his presence had helped put back the pieces of her shattered heart. Helped her through all the hurt and hardships of giving up a child and—she can't even repay that kindness. Can't be there for him when he needs her most.
He'll hate her—but nonetheless, at least she deserves it.
Kurt stops talking, stops smiling, stops singing. His pale skin now does look sickly, his bright eyes, well, no longer bright. Annie can't help the thought that now, yes, he really does look like his mother. With dark rings under his eyes and body frail and lifeless. He doesn't come out of his room. He won't come out of his room. He refuses to speak to Annie, and very rarely Burt, too.
Days, weeks, months pass. Nobody really seems to notice. Their lives are just a haze, a blur. They still haven't let go. People often come by, with a shy—kind of reassuring—smile they ask how they're doing. It's very seldom they get a clear, non-mumbled or one-word answer. They're not doing well, that's kind of obvious. So what really, do they expect?
Annie had fully expected that Burt would have gone back to his old neglecting ways, burying himself in his work and ignoring what truly matters. It comes as a shock to her to be proven wrong, Ellie's death had changed Burt and—this time, for the better. He works hard to make Kurt happy again, to pull him out of his shell and show him that he's still loved, adored by all. To make him better.
Burt is clueless, though, hopeless it seems because no matter what he does, his Kurt still doesn't come back. He's far away, Burt knows he's losing him, just like he lost Ellie. So he fights, fights as hard as he can. Annie watches on the sidelines, not knowing what to do. Kurt doesn't need her anymore—he doesn't want her anymore.
Nothing works. Nothing at all.
There's only one option left, to Burt, at least. One he'd promised Ellie he'd never turn to. Things like this, they leave people jaded, lifeless, ignorant to what truly matters in life. Like Ellie had, blinded by money and popularity—she'd never want the same for Kurt.
Burt uses his money. He buys Kurt everything he can possibly think of. He makes sure he goes to all the best schools. It's always bigger, better than all of the other kids'.
Slowly the old Kurt comes back, or at least that's what it seems. What Burt doesn't notice though, is that this, in fact, is not the old Kurt. No, far from it, really.
Yes, maybe his skin no longer looks sickly but its former porcelain shine. His eyes are bright again. He smiles. He talks. He sings. But he's not the old Kurt, no. This Kurt is far from the shy, attention seeking boy. The one that craved emotions, hugs, just contact.
He demands attention—not that there's any actual demanding needed—boys, girls, men, women alike. They all smother him in it. He doesn't need to ask.
He's smart too. He knows what he wants and he knows how to get it. He never has to think much on it though, with just a simple mention to his father it's already there, handed to him on the likes of a silver platter.
He's becoming what Ellie dreaded most. A selfish, spoilt, narcissistic person. A person who only cares for himself. He's becoming her.
Annie can see it, see what he's growing into, from the little perch she has on the sidelines of his life. They barely talk anymore, Kurt doesn't even look at her. But she still feels for him, she cares, and she's scared of what he's turning into. What the money and popularity are making of him.
But it's far from that, being like this is the only way Kurt knows. Has grown to know—he can't help it. He might have grown up being loved by all but, he's also feels lifeless, lonely, all on his own at the top. Annie can see that, she wants to help but she can't. She knows this is something Kurt has to overcome on his own and—even if it's leaving him alone again, in a moment of need, of vulnerability, it's what she has to do. There's no other option.
And Burt is great, Kurt knows that, but it's not like he understands why Kurt likes clothes so much. Or why he spends hours doing his hair or rubbing different creams and lotions on to make his skin look even better.
Burt really doesn't understand what he's doing wrong. Kurt might be talking again, but he's not the same as before. He's cut off, unsociable, thinks himself better than everybody else. He doesn't know what else to do than spoil Kurt rotten even if he's sure that it doesn't help his case, it still sorts things out somewhat—makes Kurt content for the time being, at least until there's something else he wants.
Burt knows that Kurt's unhappy, that he hides behind his dad's money because it's the only thing that he thinks can get him what he really wants, what Kurt doesn't realise is that really, no matter how hard he tries, he can't buy himself happiness. He can't bring his mum back.
What Kurt really needs? Something as simple as a friend. But it's not simple though, Kurt has grown to know that. People only want to use him, either for his looks or for his money but—always for some ulterior motive, never because they actually want to spend time with Kurt.
In actuality, that's what leaves Kurt jaded, monotone. Not the money, yet what side effects it brings with it. It's why he closes himself off, uses his status as a way to make himself feel better. Above everyone else. It's the only thing that seems to work. It's the only thing that—in his mind—brings him closer to his mother.
He may be spoilt, yes, and he may be narcissistic too but, it's not his fault, really.
All in all, Kurt grows thinking that he's better, that there is nobody out there who is up to his limit, nobody out there that is worthy of his time and affections.
Or that's what it may seem. What he makes people think. Truly, he only acts like that because really? He's too scared to get hurt. To be affectionate to somebody, to fall in love. Because the very few times he has? It's all been for the popularity of dating Kurt Hummel. It's either his looks or his money.
This, this here, is what makes Kurt Hummel who he is today.
Thanks to his father Kurt attends the most prestigious high school in Westerville: Crawford Country Day.
He's seventeen now, and has never had to work for anything. It either comes naturally—like his looks, for example—or it gets bought by his father. Contrary to popular beliefs though, Kurt does not only care about himself. He might have grown spoilt, pampered, but that only makes him love his father that tid bit more. Burt is the only thing he has left, the only person he can afford to let in, to show his emotions to. To be the vulnerable, bare, raw person that he truly is.
Annie had abandoned him all those years ago, he doesn't feel like he can rely on her anymore. He still sees her around the house sometimes, but he no longer feels warmth towards her or cares about her, at the mere sight he's filled with rage, with disappointment. He wants to ask why, why she'd left him when he'd needed her most, just like his parents did all those years ago. Why had she turned on him too? But he can't bring himself to, he's not brave enough. Deep down, he still loves Annie. If anything, she'd been more of a mother to him than Ellie had ever been, she'd cared for him but—she'd abandoned him, too.
Kurt doesn't know what to think on the matter, so he just ignores it all together.
He's grown to have quite a severe superiority complex, pushing people away and making out that he's better than them, the bigger person in the whole situation, the only thing that helps him deal with things. The only thing that makes him feel okay.
He's lonely, too, but to him nobody is good enough. It's been clear for years he prefers boys to girls. Oddly enough, nobody seems to mind. Even his father, he welcomes who he is with open arms.
That doesn't stop the girls, though, no. They don't seem to take in that vital piece of information. That they're missing a certain piece of let's say anatomy. They through themselves at him like there's no tomorrow.
Kurt can't stand it, the constant fending off of unwanted attention. He'd thought it'd be a thing that would fade away as he grew, that all of those fawning women and little girls would get a hold of themselves and realise that Kurt, really, wasn't all that great. It had only seemed to worsen though, much to his chagrin. So he'd settled for becoming mean, using harsh words to keep them at bay. It's another part of the reason why he feels so superior. He might be mean, icy, hateful to others but still no one seems to care. They ignore it just because he's pretty, because he's attractive. They don't care that he's an awful person, that he hates them all.
There is one girl though, just one, that has never done anything of the sort. Someone outside of his family—himself and his father and maybe even Annie—that Kurt has come to trust. Someone who understands what Kurt is going through. Somebody who has grown to be just the same as him: Maisie Anderson.
With the soft 'tap-tap' of designer boots on the pavement, Kurt walks down the street. Nose upturned and back ramrod straight. Eyes cold, challenging, emotionless, narrowing at whoever deems to look his way. An air of narcissism circles him.
Kurt eyes all the grand houses lazily. His eyes are locked on an upcoming one, he quickens his pace. He's already late (fashionably late) and he doesn't want to keep her waiting. He's quite sure she wouldn't mind though, he's giving up precious time just to do her a favour. She owes him. Owes him big time.
…
Kurt is sitting in the library. He's done his homework already and he still has a quarter of an hour left of free period. Arms crossed and leaning on the table, head perched lazily across them, he eyes the rest of the library population.
So. Much. Blue.
His hand fiddle with the hem of his vest. It's a dark navy blue—like everything else, apparently—and covers a white button up shirt. On the left side of his chest there's a big and swirly 'C' emblazoned, thick and fancy and attention-grabbing, it's to show that he's a Crawford Boy. The slacks are horrible, grey plaid and hideous, to match his tie.
He sighs, why does he even go to this school? Its idea of a nice and fashionable uniform is depressing, it makes Kurt think there's no hope left in the world. Well, in the world of fashion, at least.
He twists his head with a groan, stretching his arms out across the table, forehead resting against them. He faintly takes in the noise of the library door opening and closing, then the soft patter of feet on the wood flooring. He looks up, absently, bored out of his mind.
Hazel-green eyes are staring down at him, it startles him at first mind fuzzy and confused, but as his shoulders slouch down and his body relaxes he pushes himself up, stretching his arms out and resting on his palms. He yawns slightly.
Maisie Anderson sits across from him, chin placed daintily in her palms and her elbows resting on the table. She flutters her eyelashes at him, offering him a coy smile. He flicks her nose and she glares at him, but then bursts out into a fit of gigles, Kurt following along.
"Hello Kurt." She greets sweetly, her eyes wide and glistening. "How are you?"
He looks at her with a mock-snide expression, "Peachy." he mumbles, cocking his head to the side, "Do what do I owe the pleasure?" he drawls out.
A pleasure indeed it is for Kurt, though he'd never admit it. This girl was one of the few people he tolerated. They were close, in a way. They were—friends.
"I need a tutor." She states bluntly, Kurt only stares, dumbfounded. "You…You've got one of the highest GPA's here and I just thought…Better you than some creepy guy I don't know…right?" She hastily explains. Eyes wide, pleading, a streak of hesitation that if you didn't look hard enough, you'd miss.
Kurt and this girl were pretty much on the same boat. Both being exceedingly lucky in the looks department and also they both came from popular and wealthy families. They possessed high status and money, so they were pursued quite often and—quite strongly. Some people only shot admiring gazes their way but, others though—let's just say they didn't have the purest of intentions.
Maisie is still talking, something about living just down the street to each other, trying to explain, trying to convince. "Yes," Kurt blurts out without thinking "I'll do it" He earns a squeal from his friend, the librarian hastily 'shushing' her soon after.
He can't help but laugh when Maisie ducks her head, biting her lip to not giggle and mumbles a "Yes ma'am, sorry ma'am" while Kurt gives her a questioning look. She shrugs as he laughs, and in that moment, he knows exactly why he likes being around this girl.
He feels normal for once in his life, as if he can act like he pleases and he won't be judged.
He feels himself being poked in the side, a hushed comment of "You're so uptight!" hissed at him playfully. He sticks his tongue out, feeling like a child, but not caring about it in any way.
The librarian glares at them and both their mouths clamp shut. Amused twinkles in their eyes as they lock together in a silent thank you.
A thank you to the other for taking the time to tolerate them, and what being with them entails.
They're friends, so they're happy.
…
He pauses as he reaches the gate, hand clutching at the latch in anticipation. He doesn't know why he's nervous but the feeling just won't go away. It nags at him, making him pull a nervous smile as he slowly opens the gate.
He looks up at the house, its dark majestic brown shining in the small amount of sun that's left. Its size and grandeur bring up a daunting feeling inside of Kurt, making him feel queasy and uneasy.
It's Maisie, he shouldn't be worried. He just has to tutor her, no biggie, right? They're friends, nothing bad is going to happen. He takes a deep breath, eyes closing momentarily as he pushes the gate open slowly, taking a small step towards the house.
A reassuring smile plasters across his face, trying to calm himself down. He has nothing to worry about, nothing bad is going to happen, everything is completely fine. He takes in another shaky breath.
This is what friends do, right, hang out? That's what him and Maisie did. Were going to do—because they were friends. And that's what friends did, no?
They only normally hung out at school. Spending the few minutes they had in between classes making hasty conversation or trying not to make too much noise talking and joking around in the library.
Kurt had known for a while that this wasn't strictly normal, for how close they were, at least. For how much they meant to each other. Normal friends hung out. Kurt and Maisie steered far away from those lines.
It wasn't because they didn't want to, that was to be sure of, it was because they were scared. Scared of being hurt, of being judged, of being tricked into something that wasn't real.
They had to move slowly in order to prove that this friendship was real, and not like other times when the others only had ulterior motives. This was normal, at least for them.
Kurt nods, feeling somewhat better, and takes another small step. It was going to work out in the end, they'd learn how to fully open up to each other. Kurt was determined to not ruin it. This was everything he'd ever wanted, a friend, he'd be damned if he was dumb enough to let that chance go.
He took another step, this one more sure, filled with more courage. He was making the right decision. Maisie needed him. He needed Maisie. He wasn't going to fuck this up, that was a definite no-no.
"You can do this, Kurt! Have, umm…courage, or whatever!" He whispers, ringing his hands together, the uneasiness taking over him again.
He has to do this, he has to do this.
"Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness, ya'know—" Kurt's back goes stiff "—you should really work on that." And wait, no, he knows that voice.
Turning around his eyes immediately latch onto a familiar shade of hazel. Though these ones are tougher, not as sweet and innocent, you'd think they were hiding some big, bad, nasty secret if it wasn't for the tell-tale mischievous twinkle in them.
They shine with curiosity, somewhat like a cat, and a sharp grin spreads across the other boys face which, right at that moment, lays in his palm, elbow resting on the fence awkwardly, though he seems to pay it no mind. He lets out a smirkish chuckle.
"Miss me?"
[A/N]: Okay, so what did you think? Good enough? Or just really bad? Feedback would be nice...