(I'm sorry if this shows up on everyone's alert as a new chapter or whatever, but I just noticed that the separation between parts were missing, except one, and had to fix them.)
The party is in full swing.
Kurt eyes it all from the top of his fifth drink and giggles.
He's tipsy.
The bride-to-be is engaging in the worst kind of dance moves ever. Kurt should probably videotape it for future reference. Anne Hathaway and Kate Hudson pop into his mind and he considers showing it at the ceremony but then scolds himself. Kurt was the one who broke up with Brandon – he didn't want to be with Brandon. Sure, he hadn't expected Brandon to find his one true love first and have his big fat wedding first. And he certainly didn't expect it to be to a woman.
And, most of all, he didn't expect to be hired to plan said wedding.
Ever since he heard the news there's been a nagging voice at the back of Kurt's head that keeps muttering 'you made him straight! You made him straight!', no matter how much Kurt tells himself that that's absurd and that Brandon had always identified himself as bisexual, and dated both women and men both before and after Kurt. In the end, Kurt decides, planning his ex's wedding to a woman has got to be one the worst ideas he's ever had.
But again: it was Kurt who broke it off.
And Brandon had cried. Like… really cried. Tears and snot and drool.
Really, it's just that, as it is, Kurt is probably well past tipsy and trying very hard to rein his bitterness in – any other time he would've been able to maintain his rational 'there is nothing be bitter about' train of thought, thank you very much.
Drunkness, though, apparently does a great job of interrupting said train of thought, every one minute, with feelings. Feelings of hurt pride, and irrational jealousy. Feelings that the only thing worse than knowing your ex is engaged to a woman is getting the job of planning their wedding. Feelings that it was the worst idea to agree to it, because now he gets to see Brandon happy and engaged to a woman. While he goes home to an empty bed.
(Kurt is the worst person in the world, to think of this as a problem. To think he had any right to not be happy for Brandon. To think that Brandon had no right of robbing him of the self-esteem boost that was the image of him slobbering and begging for Kurt not to break up with him.)
No. Alcohol is the worst.
Without alcohol Kurt is a decent human being, alright: you see, it's not even like they could afford his services, so Kurt had promptly offered a friendly discount (that had nothing to do with him feeling guilty about the sort of almost pleasure that the memories of Brandon crying brought him, but everything to do with his genuine happiness for his ex-boyfriend and his not-at-all trashy fiancée).
Long story short, thanks to his self induced guilt-trip, he ended up not only planning the last wedding he wanted to plan, but also invited to the bachelorette party (yes! because him being gay equals going to the all the girl parties! Of COURSE!), which, thank goodness, he did not organize (if he had it certainly wouldn't have been this tacky, clichéd, and, well, cheap).
He only said yes because it's bad for business if his clients think he's a bitch. Not that these clients would be in the right tax bracket to recommend his work to any of their friends, anyway.
That was probably a horrible thing to think, though.
Unfortunately, however, he's well beyond buzzed, right into tipsy, verging on drunk territory and ignoring all of that in favor of watching white women making a spectacle of themselves. Being polite or politically correct is the last thing on his priority list.
White, thirty year old women should never be allowed to twerk. Ever. It just looks stupid.
He joins in on the dancing sometimes, but he definitely never twerks.
Trying to stay clear of the dance floor while the twerking workshop is in session, Kurt graciously offers to open the door when the bell ring and – Oh….!
And thank god for small mercies because whoever organized this sham of a party had at least one good idea.
A predictable one, true, but good nonetheless – given who they hired.
He eyes the man up and down – not even caring how predatory he must've looked – and he sees that behind him all the women are doing the exact same thing, smiles widening and little yelps and shrieks of excitement tumbling out of their very inebriated lips. He shares a beam with them and turns back to the man.
Seriously, whoever organized this party has absolutely and completely redeemed themselves for the twerking and the tacky penis-themed decorations – two words: good taste.
Slicked back hair, bright hazel eyes, pouty lips, strong chin, and a body… jeez-wiz! A slim, toned body that even the fake uniform can't properly hide. He doesn't look like you'd expect a stripper would – no bulging exaggerated muscles, no oiled up skin, no stuffed crotch, or cocky smirk, and Kurt reckons that someone should really win a medal for good taste and doing the impossible: finding an attractive stripper.
"Let me guess…" Kurt drawls, quirking an eyebrow "Noise complaint?"
"As a matter of fact, yes!" the officer says with a tight tone.
Kurt laughs, as do all women behind him, he feels them practically salivating and someone squeals again. Kurt smirks and tugs him inside by his tie – the man startles and practically stumbles into him "Not enough noise, am I right?!" Kurt teases before ripping the shirt open.
Kurt had been expecting excited screams and squeals, maybe even the sound of someone fainting, but there's silence.
Cold, dead silence.
He had also been expecting a smooth, probably tanned expanse of skin. He finds the white cotton of an undershirt. He looks up at the man's face. His hands drop to his side at once as he takes in the complete mortification in the man's face and the fire in his cheeks.
And if Kurt wasn't sobered up enough by then, a quick flick of his eyes, over the man's shoulder and towards the door reveals another man standing there. This second man is taller and bigger. Muscles stretching out a tacky imitation of a police uniform as he holds a boom box under his arm. He looks just as confused as everyone else, standing right behind the (Oh god) actual police officer.
"Oh no." he blanches.
-x-
Officer Anderson doesn't actually cuff him, but he does get a reading of "You have the right to remain silent blah blah blah" and he does get to ride in the backseat of a police car. The police station isn't, apparently that far, and Kurt groans because, of course, of course it had to be the one right down the block from his own house.
Between the alcohol in his stomach and the complete mortification he's almost proud of not to throwing up all over the car, as they make their way to the precinct. But he definitely doesn't manage to drown out the banter between the two officers on the front seats (well, one banters and the other one tells him to shut up) "Fuck, Anderson, should we change your name to something a little more rowdy… Officer Sexypants, at your service!"
"Shut up, Louis. And it's rowdier. It's two syllables, so."
"Oh, I'm so sorry, sir, are you going to punish me, mister?"
"I swear to god…!"
A moment after the vehicle has finally stopped moving the door swings open. Kurt stumbles out, surprised when a hand comes out to hold his elbow and help him up and steady. "Thanks" he mumbles.
"No problem." The other man says, fastening is jacket all the way up to his chin once he lets go of Kurt. Kurt wants to die of embarrassment: the buttons on the officer's shirt were ripped out and he can't actually close it, so he keeps it hidden under his jacket.
They go inside – it's practically three a.m., so the precinct is basically empty, and Kurt is led to a cell where a homeless looking (and smelling) man is sleeping.
"Do I get my phone call, or is that like… just a movie thing?" Kurt asks in a small voice.
The officer cracks a quick smile and puts a hand on Kurt's back, pressing a little bit "Sure. This way."
Kurt calls Rachel and, of course she would be at her boyfriend's tonight of all nights, but she promises to hurry back and bail him out. It's still better than calling Santana and have her smug ass come pick him up.
He waits as Officer Anderson speaks with another uniformed man and then the latter grabs a jacket and leaves while Anderson comes back towards Kurt. He's escorted back to the cell. Soberness has kicked in with the urge to be sick, but Kurt holds it in the best he can.
Officer Anderson disappears for a few minutes before returning with a new shirt, still buttoning up the collar.
"I'm so sorry!" Kurt gasps before he can even realize he's speaking.
The man stops, startled by Kurt's voice and only stares for a moment before letting out a breathy chuckle and rolling his eyes "It's fine… don't worry about it."
"It's-I'm-Thi" Kurt stops the babbling and sighs before saying "I'm just not like this at all."
He nods and shrugs "Oh, well, I guess it had to happen sooner or later." He chuckles to himself "We're not actually a cop until we get mistaken for a stripper. It's tradition, and I really should be flattered."
Kurt blushes "You're just saying that so I won't feel horrible."
The man actually laughs and scrunches up his nose "Only maybe." He shoots an amused look at Kurt before asking for his driver's license and settling down on a desk not too far away.
Kurt tries not to smile as he says "The effort is appreciated, even if in vain. I'm mortified."
"At least you got a good jail story out of it."
"Ha." Kurt drawls out and the officer gives him a grin before picking up a pen and pulling some kind of form towards himself "I think I'll just swear off alco-" Kurt covers his mouth up before anything can actually come out, swallowing the vomit back down.
"You're going to be sick, aren't you?"
Kurt looks up at the man and only nods, not even daring to take his hands away, lest it come back much more forceful. Officer Anderson moves fast and Kurt has a wastebasket in his hands before he's throwing up the full contents of his stomach into it – it smells like alcohol. It makes him throw up more.
Finally it stops and he looks up, much to his horror, only to find the bright eyed officer crouching right there "Better?"
"Not really" Kurt croaks out "my soul hurts."
"Oh." He nods and, hands on his knees, pushes himself to stand "Bruised egos are the worst."
"They are."
"Shall we keep this here for safety?" He asks, signaling the vomit filled basket. Kurt can't do anything besides nod, and the man smiles softly "I'll go get you some water."
Kurt curls up on the hard, narrow bench and whimpers slightly as he waits. The re-approaching footsteps alert him and he sits up and tries to look halfway composed. He accepts the glass with a half moan "Thank you!"
"No problem." Officer Anderson says and goes back to his desk and, with a sigh and blinking his eyes awake, he starts scribbling on forms.
Kurt tries not to watch him too much. He fails.
In retrospect, he doesn't understand how he could ever mistake him for a stripper. It's not that he isn't hot and gorgeous because, lol, he is – it's that he's got that boy next door charm, and he looks like pretty much the definition of sweet, or even… innocently charming. He's small (not so much as short – though he is shorter than Kurt, or most men – or even skinny, but just, overall small), his eyes look all bright and eager, his smile seems to constantly be layered with a light blush, and he chews on his lip a lot when he thinks no one else is looking. The gel on his hair and the way he sits with impeccable posture makes him look from a different era altogether. Ultimately, Kurt decides, Officer Anderson looks like that ridiculously charming and genuine boy from your 50's neighborhood with flawless manners that has no idea of how everyone sighs and swoons at the mere sight of him.
And of course that if there were such strippers Kurt would be first in line to their shows, but the very idea is a paradox – instead they have bulging pecs and rock-hard six-packs, oil all over to make their fake-tanned skin shine, and never once is a leering smirk forgotten. It's all horribly… artificial. Which is why Kurt never, ever, ever goes to strip clubs.
In fact, when he thinks about it, Kurt doesn't even know how he threw himself at a supposed stripper – he doesn't like strippers, at all. The very concept makes him uneasy. It really is a testimony to how gorgeous and non-strippy he finds Officer Anderson that he did so. Or to how drunk he'd been. Or to both.
Anderson's eyes flicker towards him and Kurt practically falls off the bench in his haste to look away, trying not to curse out loud at having been caught. When Kurt glances back, though, he's looking down at his forms again, pen tapping nervously against the desk and blushing slightly. Kurt can't help smiling a little a the sight.
There's a loud crashing noise and the few heads inside the precinct turn to witness the one and only Rachel Berry scrambling her way in "Kurt?! Oh my god, Kurt?" she calls frantically and now Kurt wishes he would've just called anyone else.
"May I help you?" officer Anderson stands.
"Oh!" She gasps, noticing how maybe talking to one of the officers was the appropriate thing to do "I-I'm here to pick up my friend, Kurt Hummel?"
"Right." He nods "Let me just finish this form and it'll be just a minute before you can head out, I promise! Oh, and the glamour shot!…" He glances at Kurt, who's trying to make himself invisible, hands covering every inch of his face, except his eyes, and smiles softly.
-x-
"I have never, ever, ever, ever-"
"Is this going to be a Taylor Swift song?" Santana interrupts and Kurt glares at her.
"Ever been this humiliated."
"Na… I think prom Queen still takes the crown." She shrugs, and while Rachel gapes at her total lack of sympathy, Kurt almost admires it.
"Pun intended?"
"Of course." She scoffs, before smirking "Was he hot?"
"That's wildly off the point."
"He was though, wasn't he?"
Rachel hums in thought before saying "I wouldn't say hot, so much as I would cute, dashing and charming… I think… yes, I think those are the right words."
"Oh!" Santana smirks "But, ladylips, that makes so much more sense."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I know your type."
"I don't have a type."
"You totally do." Santana chuckles.
"I do not!"
"Oh, you do, sweetie." Rachel reaches over and squeezes his hand with a smile that isn't entirely as sweet as she wants it to be "You have a type, and it's definitely cute and charming. And it's definitely sitting over at the precinct in dashing blue. And, honey, oh, honey, it was definitely eyeing you up."
"Stop that!" Kurt feels his face burn "he was looking at me because I confused him for a stripper, ripped his shirt wide open and then spent like five minutes throwing up into his paper basket."
"You should totally chat him up."
"And say what? I wouldn't mind ripping your shirt open again, do you wanna go get some coffee?"
"For instance."
"You're insane."
"No, she's not entirely insane." Rachel says, appeasing both of them with a smile "What if you just went over there, in a more… dignified state and tell him how terribly sorry you are…? Maybe offer to buy him dinner as an apology?"
"Rachel. Santana. You are both insane and I need to go to bed. Also, I will be moving out. Soon."
"No, you won't."
"No." he agrees haughtily "You're absolutely right, I won't. You will, because last time I checked, this house was actually min-"
"And you invited us to live with you because you couldn't stand the empty home." Santana interrupts with a smirk "You love us and you know it. Don't fight the love, Hummel, it's not a good color on you."
He glares. He sighs. "I'm going to bed. I have a wedding to coordinate tomorrow." He announces, standing and starting towards his bedroom without so much as a smile or a goodbye "Somehow" he adds under his breath.
The next day – having slept a total of two hours – he leaves the house with a splitting headache and tremendous hate for sunny, sunny days (great for weddings, horrible for hangovers). "Coffee…" he mumbles, before he starts towards his favorite shop (quaint and understated). It's not until he's walking right past it that he remembers the police station is right in front of it. And it's not until he spots Officer Anderson leaving (looking absolutely exhausted, tie loose and hair undone) that he wishes he had taken his coffee at home (despite the burnt flavor their coffeemaker always leaves).
To his surprise, though, when their eyes meet, the other man is the first one to smile brightly and wave. Probably looking brain-dead, Kurt manages to raise his hand back in greeting. The officer nods and continues on his way, while Kurt remains rooted to his place on the sidewalk, watching him leave, Santana and Rachel's words echoing painfully in his mind.
He so has a type.
With a sigh he turns on his heels and goes inside.
The wedding goes off without a hitch, miraculously.
-x-
Sometimes Kurt wonders if he should just stop trying to do the right thing. It always seems to backfire.
Ok. Maybe he's exaggerating.
He can't actually remember any time it's backfired before this very moment. This is probably number one. But still. He's pretty sure trying to stop a domestic fight in the middle of the street, in the middle of the night (so that was probably a bad idea to start with), should not warrant running for his life.
There had been a punch to his face, though. A probably perfect right hook that got him right on the cheekbone before he had the good sense of turning on his heel and sprinting away, managing to keep fifty feet between him and the guy chasing him.
He always was a fast runner (a survival must at high school). That and the guy trying to kill him with his bare hands is wearing baggy jeans, low on his hips. Ha! Crimes of fashion do punish.
And hey, at least Kurt got him to stop hitting the girl. That's gotta be a good thing.
He turns the corner and wants to cry in excitement because he recognizes the street. And the boy must've recognized it too because his footsteps halt at once.
"Fuck!" Kurt hears, but continues sprinting without daring to pause or slowing down "YEAH, KEEP RUNNING YOU FAGGOT!" Kurt practically falls on his ass as he tries to halt in time to turn towards the precinct door "I'LL FIND YA AGAIN, AND I'LL KILL YA, I WILL!"
Kurt yanks it open and stumbles inside, closing the door right behind him and pressing all his weight against it as his breaths come up frantic.
The only two heads in the precinct at this time turn to look at him.
"Kurt?"
"… guy… hit… girl… stop'im… hit… me… ran…" he lets out in breathless gasps. Officer Anderson has jumped off his desk and is standing in front of Kurt all of a sudden, frowning with worry and holding a hand to Kurt's shoulder.
"Ok, wait, breathe." he says calmly "Just get your breath back…"
Kurt does. He closes his eyes and takes deep, ragged intakes of air. It's actually painful. His right side is cramping up with a huge stitch and he puts one hand there to squeeze his stomach but that barely helps. He figures maybe it's time he starts exercising outside of the random yoga class and the few morning exercises.
When he thinks he might have the power of speech back he looks up to find Officer Anderson still standing there, still frowning with worry, and still holding a hand to his shoulder. "I was… I was walking home… and there was this guy… and a girl and I heard her screaming… and she was… was trying to get away from him… so I went oh-… over there… and I told him to let her be… and… and next thing I know… he punches me in the face… so I just… I started running… and… he stopped chasing me after he knew… knew I was coming here…" his breaths are still fucked up and coming up in the middle of his sentences, but at least he can make himself understood.
The man's eyes widen and he nods "Alright, ok, that explains the bruise and the cut, but maybe you should take a seat…?" He gestures towards his own desk and Kurt follows him with weak, shaky legs, sitting promptly on the chair "Do you want to press charges?" he asks, half-sitting on his desk.
"I… I don't even know who he is. I just…. I hope the girl's ok."
"Can you give me a description?"
"Huh… tall… and kind of big… baggy clothes… his pants were halfway down his ass, I guess. I think his hoodie was black or some other dark color. He had a white beanie. There were headphones around his neck… the bulky kind. Green, I think."
"I… wait… hang on a sec." Anderson takes a radio and mumbles something into it, it crackles back with a response Kurt isn't all too sure he understands "If the patrol car managed to find him, would you be able to identify him?"
"Yes, I think so."
"Alright. So while we wait, maybe you could give me your deposition?"
"Sure. I guess... it's pretty much the same I just told you…?"
Anderson nods "With as much detail as you can remember." He stands "But first, let me go get a first aid kit and an icepack for that cheek, Kurt…"
"Oh, right…" Kurt blushes and suddenly realizes that, holy shit, the guy remembers his name. Almost a week later and he remembers Kurt's name.
Before Kurt can get over that fact, the guy's back with a small red box and a blue pack. He opens the box and takes out a piece of gauze and disinfectant. "Might sting." He mutters and Kurt steels himself, but it doesn't actually sting all that much so he has absolutely nothing to distract him from the proximity between the two of them. The officer is biting on his own lip, in concentration, his hazel eyes focused on Kurt's cheek. Kurt decides he could spend his whole life just staring into those eyes.
Hazel meets blue and Kurt immediately looks away, ducking his face and blushing. Anderson says nothing, and from the corner of his eye Kurt sees him hesitate before looking away, too. There's a rustling noise and Kurt looks to find the officer taking out a small Band-Aid. He can feel the man's fingertips brush his skin as he puts it on, and that only makes his face burn hotter.
"Right, there you go!" the man says, holding the ice-pack carefully to the bruise, until Kurt finally regains brain function and raises his own hand to hold it up himself. After closing the box and brushing his hands Anderson sits back on his desk and pulls his keyboard to himself, hitting a few keys before saying "So, how about that deposition?"
Kurt sighs and tells the story yet again, with as much detail as possible, all the while holding the icepack against his cheek.
"That was a good idea,…" the officer says, once Kurt finishes "Coming here, I mean. Not getting in the middle of a fight – that wasn't all that smart."
"What should I have done, then? Just let him hit her?"
"Call the police…?" Anderson offers with a teasing smirk.
"Right… but you'd have taken time to get there. And… well. Immediate action had to be taken. What would you have done?"
"I'd have arrested him, Kurt. That's my job."
"Right." Kurt blushes under Anderson's amused gaze.
"It's still honorable." His voice is soft and tentative and Kurt looks up to find him looking slightly nervous "And brave. Admirable, really. Even if reckless and dangerous." Kurt perks up, beaming under the praise and Anderson rolls his eyes and adds "But don't make a habit out of it. I'm not condoning it."
"I won't, officer."
"Good. You look good with limbs attached." Kurt gapes as the man himself looks surprised at his own words, eyes wide and cheeks coloring. Anderson is suddenly gazing at his own hands.
"Huh, right. I suppose so. Legless isn't really on the- oh my god, I'm a horrible person!"
Anderson chuckles nervously, rubbing a hand through his face before clicking a button and suddenly the printer on the desk is making noises and a piece of paper emerges slowly.
"I'll just need your signature on thi-"
The front door opens and two policemen enter, a young man between them, with baggy clothes, a white beanie and green headphones.
"We found him peeing on a car." One of them says, and Anderson stands at once, smiles at his colleague but blocks Kurt from view.
"Get him inside." He says "We'll be right in."
The two uniformed men must have complied because there's shuffling noise and an affronted "Get off me!" and then, as they walked away, somewhere Kurt couldn't see, his screaming was still audible, even if farther away "That was the faggot, wasn't it?! What's his name?! I'm gonna kill him!"
"He's not going to kill you." Anderson says at once, turning round to face Kurt.
"Oh, I know." Kurt shrugs trying to look nonchalant and unaffected "None of them ever do. Promises, promises, promises! All liars, the lot of them."
Anderson looks at him for a long while, a smile forming before he cocks his head and chuckles "Oh, so you've got a history of stopping violent men in the middle of the street, then?"
"Yes!" Kurt laughs "Wedding planner by day, vigilante by night."
"Oh, haven't you ever seen Batman? I'm actually supposed to arrest vigilantes."
"Oh, but you already did." Kurt points out and Anderson nods.
With a dashing smile Anderson gestures towards the hallway where the men had disappeared "Shall we? Identification awaits you, dark knight."
Kurt merely nods, putting the icepack down and trying to contain his smile as he follows him inside.
"Oh, these things actually do exist!" Kurt gasps as he enters a room with a window to another room with a scale on the wall, where the idiot was standing alone.
Anderson chuckles next to him and asks "So, is this the man who attacked you?"
Kurt watches the man carefully, even if it's not that hard to know the answer. "Yes." He says with certainty.
"Alright, then." He pushes a button and says "Positive identification."
"Shouldn't there like… be five other guys standing next to him or something?"
Blaine gives him an amused look.
"Movie myth?"
"Kind of, not really. Usually there are, but… we just don't really have those guys ready in the middle of the night and on such short notice… and anyway, you are sure, right?"
"Of course! Obviously!"
"Also, he was found peeing on the street, which is in itself an offense, so…"
He escorts Kurt back to the desk, where he picks up the paper from the printer and a pen "I'll need your autograph." He requests with a smile and Kurt returns it as he picks up the paper. He reads over it, decides that everything written is true and signs it.
"Well… Is that all, officer?"
Anderson nods "For now, yes, I can take it from here. We will contact you if and when there's anything else, but it's late and I suppose you might want a good night's sleep."
Kurt hesitates before he takes out his wallet and finds a contact card "In case you need anything else."
"I hum… I actually have all your information…" Anderson says awkwardly "from, huh, from the other night, but thanks." He takes the card.
"Ah! Right… well… it's just a little more becoming to me if you get my number from a card and not from an arrest report."
"I imagine so." He says before glancing at the card and putting it on his desk.
"I never did hear anything else from that night, by the way. Shouldn't I have to attend a hearing or… something?" he frowns, knowing he probably sounds stupid "I'm just… really going off from what I've seen in movies and TV, because I've never been arrested. I have no idea how this works."
"Oh." Anderson looks a little startled "Oh, no… No. There won't be… I, huh, I didn't file the report. There's no… Didn't your friend tell you?"
"What?"
"I called her because of the post money the next day… Gave it back to her. I didn't…"
"Why?!" Kurt gasps.
"Oh it's just… She didn't tell you? It was nothing really. I felt stupid about arresting you for something so silly. It's funny in retrospect and I just… there are people out there stealing cars and actually assaulting others. It just felt silly."
"But I thought you had to. I thought assaulting – sexually assaulting – a police officer was a public offense." Why are you fighting this, Kurt?! Do you want to go to court and have a criminal record?!
Anderson shrugs, half shy "Not if there's no record of it happening."
"Oh… Hmm… Thanks. A lot. Thank you! Really! I appreciate it a lot, and I really am super, super sorry about everything."
The man nods and smiles kindly "Yes, well, we'll call you if there's anything else about this one, and… huh, actually… how are you getting home?"
"Oh… walking." Kurt shrugs "Home is just a few blocks away."
"Oh… I… huh… I don't think that's – it's very late, Kurt."
"I thought I was the dark knight…?" Kurt teases, and puts his wallet back in his pocket, readying himself to leave.
Anderson rolls his eyes and turns to his colleague scribbling idly on his desk "I'll be right back, ok?" The other man just nods and he turns back to Kurt, picking up his coat from the back of his chair "Alright, let's go."
"What?!"
"I'll walk you home."
"Oh! I can't – really – it's just a couple of blocks – it's nothing."
"All the more reason. I could use a walk…" Anderson says "Shall we?"
Kurt follows him dumbly and they're already outside – a fresh breeze sweeping through them – when Kurt finally finds his words again "Thank you!" he gasps "But it's not necessary."
"I think you've established that." Anderson smiles and gestures for Kurt to show him the way. Kurt blushes and starts towards their left. They walk in silence for a few minutes before it's broken. "So, Kurt Hummel, wedding planner… have we learnt anything tonight?"
"Huh…"
"That we must always call the authorities for help." He supplied with a teasing smile "It is their job after all. And without a job I don't get paid, and then I'll become homeless and starve away."
"Oh, I'm sorry!" Kurt laughs "I didn't mean to make you homeless."
"That lifestyle really isn't my thing…"
"Oh, how can you say that if you've never even tried it?!"
"How do you know I haven't?" Anderson quirks an eyebrow.
"Have you?" Kurt shoots him a disbelieving look. For as humble a job as being a policeman actually is, officer Anderson exudes the kind of class and poise that only a privileged upbringing can give.
"No." he chuckles.
"I thought so."
"Well, aren't we perceptive."
"Not we. You haven't actually deduced anything about me, so…"
"Point taken. I deduce… I deduce… Oh. I deduce we've reached your door." He says, looking actually disappointed as Kurt stops in front of his door.
Kurt smiles warmly and nods "You deduce right."
He returns the smile and sighs, shrugging slightly "Well, then, home safe and sound. I've done my job." He extends a hand, which Kurt accepts at once "Good night, Kurt."
"Good night, officer Anderson, and thank you for… for everything." He sighs, dropping the warm, comfortable hand, but finding those hazel eyes he could die for and staring into them.
"Just doing my job." He shrugs, not averting his eyes from Kurt's - there's a beat of silence, where the energy between them could light up a building – and Anderson still won't look away as he says "We'll call you if there's anything."
"Thanks." He nods and starts walking away, backwards because he's still not quite able to break away from those eyes "Bye."
"Bye."
Kurt continues to walk backwards until his back hits the solid door, and he fishes his keys from his pocket, trying to postpone turning away until the very last minute.
"You're not going to try to unlock that door without looking, are you?" Anderson calls after him, making Kurt flush crimson, but it's dark and they're at least seven feet apart, so maybe he can't see.
"Impossible is nothing." Kurt shrugs, going for nonchalance.
Anderson laughs and says "I wouldn't have pegged you for a Nike kind of guy."
"You'd have been wrong if you had."
There's beat of silence before Anderson chuckles and shakes his head "So are you?"
"Am I what?"
"Going to open that door like that?"
"Oh!" Kurt gasps and finally looks away and turns around, shoving the key in the lock as he looks over his shoulder and calls out "Good night, officer Anderson!"
"Good night, Mr. Hummel." He receives just before he, very reluctantly closes the door.
He sprints up the stairs to his second floor apartment and pushes through the door, ignoring Santana on the couch, watching her soap opera, and Rachel on the dining room table, running lines with herself, and practically gluing his face to the window.
"What're you watching?" Santana asks, not looking away from the TV.
"Truly New York's finest." Kurt sighs as he watches Anderson already on the other side of the street, and his heart summersaults as the man actually looks over his shoulder towards Kurt's door, slowing his steps for a moment.
"The policeman?"
"Yeah…" Kurt sighs coming to plop down on the couch "I act-"
"Oh my god, what happened to your face?!"
-x-
It doesn't actually take that much convincing from the girls, and that should actually scare him. Kurt's pretty much just worried about how humiliated he may come out of this as he walks into the precinct the following afternoon, though.
"Can I help you?" a female officer asks as he looks around.
"Yes, actually. I'm looking for officer Anderson…?"
"Anderson? Blaine Anderson?"
"I guess… He's short-ish, dark hair…? Gel in his hair?" he says and she nods
"That's Blaine, alright." She says, while Kurt realizes it's the first time he's heard the man's first name, and he actually finds it fitting. Gorgeous, classy, yet understated "Well, you missed him. He's on the night shift, so… You'll have to come back after dinner, I guess."
"Oh." He gasps and frowns "I would. But I can't." he bites his lip before holding out the brown bag towards her "Could you just make sure he gets these, then?"
"Oh…?"
"Tell him it's just a small thank you for, huh, last night."
"I'll tell him." She says with a small frown and a smirk.
"Ok, thanks! Have a good day!" he says before nearly thrusting the bag to her and fleeing the station.
Well, at least if rejection happens it won't be to his face.
But it wouldn't, right? There had been chemistry, right? There had been flirting, right?
Kurt took a deep breath, shook his head and took off towards his office for what he was sure would be an all-nighter.
-x-
N.A.: Ignore my complete ignorance about police procedures, as, much like Kurt, I've never been arrested. Pretend everything's going according to reality. Also, Kurt's views on strippers are not necessarily my views on strippers (characters are sometimes allowed to be offensive).