AN: long story short: I sort of craved for a war au and here we are (and I kinda wrote it oops)

Chapter 1

May, 1937

Kurt walked from his awful day at work, and to be honest - his whole had been awful. On top of a crappy day, he had forgotten his umbrella, so he had to jog his way to meet his best friend. He didn't even had a newspaper to hold over his head, so his brand new bought velvet hat was ruined too. He saw the cafe, and through the window he saw Mercedes sitting inside around a table. Not looking where he was walking, he stumbled into a puddle. "Damn it!" Kurt curses to himself, the water splashing to his nice shoes and trouser legs. Just his luck.

He runs inside the cafe as if he could get any more wet, he was already soaked from his head to his toes.

"How was your day, Kurt?" His best friend Mercedes asks when her friend strolls to sit beside her.

Kurt stares bluntly at his friend, sneering even a bit. "Are you serious? What do you think?" He shoots back angrily, as he tries to dry his jacket. Now she glimpses at him: tired, floating eyes with dark circles under, his back hunching seeming to fall to the cafe table any minute. His clothes were rumpled and cloaked, his hat strangely awry, not to mention his hair that was now glued to his head and dripping raindrops over his face. "My day's been a real blast," Kurt tells, irony in his chuckle, "And I hate everything right now."

"Oh, now you're just saying," Mercedes tries to comfort her best friend, holding his hand(that was cold from the raining), but he pulls it away quickly.

"Oh yes? Think again when you hear what happened to me today!" Kurt explains loudly - his hands up - and angrily. "First, I got barely any sleep because of that damn dog I've been complaining all week. He kept barging over midnight. Then, the very smart constructive workers thought they had nothing better to do at 5 am in the morning than start drilling in the construction site right next to my flat. Not only the bus for work was late, Mr. Sylvester was already there, at the door, complaining why my store wasn't open at eight sharp."

"Take a break, Kurt dear," Mercedes stops his dramatic report with a calming voice. But he was just getting started by the looks of it.

"No, I've only begun," He pants from telling about his terrible day, inhales and continues: "The worst thing was yet to come. I spend my whole morning to afternoon putting my book copies on a nice pile, so people would buy them when they would see them in there in a lovely pile – but of course someone had to push them over, creating a huge mess all over. Just when I had finished putting them, that damn hatted man fell over them! Not to mention he also broke one of my best bookshelves. I can't afford to fix it, if my novel doesn't sell. Do I look like I'm made out of money? Then – thinking my day would get brighter by vising the army quaters to get my result letter, no no. The same hatted man shouted for the army secretary for thirty minutes straight until the office closed – right in front of my nose! Can you believe that, Mercedes? And, of course, on my way to meet you I had forgotten my umbrella home so I am drenched wet and hating my life."

"Oh, now, now," Mercedes tried to console him but he was more tensed now, breathing heavily and letting out frustrated grunts. She tries to think something comforting to say and the only thought comes to her mind is his book. "I thought your book was selling good," she asks nicely, half afraid if it was right topic to ask of her upset friend.

"No, it's not," he replies coldly, distantly – then taking her coffee cup and drinking it all, gulping loudly and eyes wandering all around. The hot coffee warmed his body a bit, but his wet clothes made him shiver.

"I'm sure the selling will rise up, you just wait."

Mercedes looks at her friend whose mind seemed to be somewhere else, as his eyes looked up the streets, then looking up the clearing sky.

"Kurt?"

He blinked his tired eyes, his back benting dowm. "I better go to change my clothes," Kurt yawned, putting the coffee cup down.

"I'll suppose I will see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, tomorrow..." Kurt replies, trailing off, from the lack of sleep. Mercedes smiled politely.

"Do you need me to walk with you?"

"No, I'm fine, thank you."

And Kurt left home with striding steps. His eyes kept going close during the bus ride, having to keep himself wake so he remembered to hop off the right stop. He reached for his keys, opening the door at his third try, getting the key to the hole with his shaky hands. He probably left the block of flats door open but he was too sleepy to think. When he entered his room, his only functioning brain part walked him to his bed (he somehow got his clothes off sloppily and didn't bother to change into pajamas)and he collapsed to the soft bed, falling asleep instantly.

Unfortunately for him, he didn't get as much sleep he wanted. Not less than two hours of sleep and he was awakened by a child's loud crying. His eyes opened in a blink, eyes burning of anger. He groaned, trying to cover his ears with his pillow – but then the crying changed into screaming, and it kept getting louder and louder. He even heard something breaking. "Are you kidding me?!" He growls, getting his strength to leave the comfortable bed. He plods to the hallway, screaming increasing, going to the halfway of the stairs of the flat when he sees a young girl. Probably five years old or younger, face all red and tears streaming down as she cries out and screams.

"Give it back!" A young man shouts to the little girl, and Kurt observes as a door opened, the downstairs floor, going to the crying girl.

"I want mama!" The girl screamed louder, the man trying to get something out of her hands, a hat, that she was gripping tight.

"She's not here right now - " The man tried to calm her down, only making it worse. Kurt grunted in frustrated.

"I want my mama!" The girl cried out, stumbling the floor angrily. The man hushed the girl, getting the top hat out of her hands. Kurt knew that hat. But by taking the hat, she screamed louder.

"Can somebody get that thing quiet? I'm trying to sleep!" Kurt yelled. Both of them turned to him, the girl tilting her head.

"I'm.. I'm sorry, sir," The black haired man's eyes observe Kurt as he apologizes. At first he thought he just stared because Kurt yelled at him, but then Kurt remembered. He was only in his underwear. He gulped, looking down and thanking he wore his decent underpants, and when he looked back at the young, rather handsome man, he was still staring at him.

"Where's my mama! I want my mama!" The girl interrupted the awkward silence between them with a yell.

"Shh, shhh. She'll pick you up soon, darling. Want to watch some TV?" The man says to calm her, the girl seeming to like the idea and walking down the hallway to the flat, eyes still wet of the crying.

"Thank Heaven's she quieted down," Kurt sighs. The man walked to the beginning of the stairs.

"I'm sorry if that bothered you, sir," the man apologizes humbly. Kurt couldn't help but to notice that his eyes kept gazing at his half naked body. He tried to lean on the railing, to hide himself.

"Somebody here are trying to sleep."

The young man seemed to amuse by his words. "It's only four thirty."

"Well, not everybody can sleep while somebody's dog is barking all night long," Kurt complained.

"Fluffy's not a barker."

"Fluffy? What a funny name. But, yes, he was. Do I look like I have slept well?" Kurt stared at him prickly. "You must have some sleeping skills, indeed."

"I haven't been in my flat for couple days. I left him home, I had no idea," the man explains. His hazel eyes glance the handsome young man, in his underwear. "I do not believe we have been properly introduced. I moved here last week. My name is -"

"I don't want to know your name," Kurt interrupted him rudely, the hazel eyed boy frowning. "I only want my sleeping peace. If you wouldn't mind."

"Of course," he promised.

"Good." And Kurt walked back to his flat, slumping to his bed, and getting good night sleep – not waking up till six o'clock the next morning.

When Kurt woke up he was well rested and perky. Gladly he didn't hear that child's scream anymore, Kurt assuming her mother picked her up. No barging either, the only thing that woke him up was that construction site's sounds. He thanked they began hour later. He bathed, ate breakfast while reading the morning's paper. He shook his head in disapproval while reading the news about rearmament, the possibility of coming war, the ongoing competition between countries. Kurt wasn't afraid of war, it was almost the opposite: he wanted to be a soldier. Ever since a kid, he'd dream to follow his grandfather and father's steps to become an army soldier and fight for justice. So when he first turned eighteen couple months ago, he immediately wanted to join the army. Sadly, however, because of his thinness and his disabilities he was disqualified. This didn't let him down, Kurt tried every month to join the army, always getting the same result.

Kurt left at 7:15, to get the bus to work. He would go to the army office today as well to get his letter he sent weeks ago.

"Good Morning," a voice greeted when Kurt walked the stairs down.

"Morning," Kurt wished politely back to the hazel eyed boy, and he fastened his steps. He couldn't believe the coincidence, seeing the man with exact same clothes as the man who had made his day worse yesterday. Not only with the child's screaming, but also being the same one who toppled his books, broke his bookshelf and yelled at the army office. Kurt thought how could he not seen him before, but then remembered he said he moved last week. They'd gone off with an awful start and to be honest, Kurt wished he wouldn't have any business with him.

Kurt thought he lost him by walking faster, but it seemed he was going with the same bus as well. It was awkward moment when he arrived to the same bus stop a couple minutes after, Kurt avoiding eye contact and taking out a book of his bag. The bus arrived on time, and like every morning, it was crowded. Another awkward moment happened in the bus way to work when he and his downstairs neighbor had to fit in the crowded bus, having to stand quite close enough. And every time the bus braked or took a fast curve, they would stumble on each other, both saying quiet sorry's to each other every time they bumped into each other. Kurt was relieved when he got out the bus before any other "accidents" happened between them.

Otherwise his day went fine like any other day, meeting Mercedes after work and he collected his letter, not accepted, which wasn't a surprise but every time Kurt got a letter from army he hoped he could join it. His friend tried to cheer him up by going to the movies, but it didn't get his mood better.

Kurt's week went by working in his bookstore. He noticed that the hazel eyed hatted man (it was what he called him, still not knowing his name nor wanting to find out) traveled to work the same time and with the same bus. They'd share long gazes, say good morning to each other (that being the only thing they said to each other), awkward touches every time they would be in a crowded bus together, without saying a word.

It was a week or so later, in a lazy afternoon in the bookstore, Kurt was putting books to shelves. His bookstore was a inheritance from his passed grandmother, and since he didn't get to the army it was his day job. It was rather tiny one, couple customers per day. Kurt was the only worker there, he couldn't afford pay enough to have more workers. He wasn't rich, but it paid his bills and got food to his plate.

He was too concentrated on his work to notice a customer in the store.

"Excuse me."

"How can I help you?" He turned around with a polite smile, couple books in his hands.

"Hi," the hazel eyed hatted man greets with a sweets smile. Kurt almost dropped his books, surprising him - of all people - in his store.

"H-hello," he greets back shyly. He was wearing the same hat he always did, and a long dark brown tweed jacket, looking like a real gentleman.

"I, um, was actually looking for you."

"You.. were?"

He nods. "Yes." He picks something out of his jacket's pockets, a tattered piece of paper. "I saw this advert of yours, about a poem night?" Kurt looks it closely, and it was one of the adverts about the poem night that was arranged in his bookstore.

"Well, it's not my poem night," he corrects, the man raising his eyebrow curiously. "The arranger only rented my bookstore for every weekend for a poem reading night, so it's technically not mine. Only the store is."

"I see," the hazel eyed boy replies disappointed, putting the paper back to his pocket. Kurt turns back to the bookshelf, putting one book to the shelf before he hears the man stepping closer.

"Can I ask you a favor?" He asks.

"What kind of favor?"

"You see, I'm.. I would like to read my poems there. I haven't really got my chance, but if you know the arranger who chooses the poets, maybe you could recommend me to him? Please?"

"You're a poet?" Kurt amazes.

"Well, I wouldn't say exactly a poet.. I haven't even published any of them yet.. "

"In that case, I'm sorry, I can't help you."

"Please, I need this. My publisher said if I got some audience it would help me to publish my poems."

Kurt sighed, looking his cute begging puppy eyes. "Wait," the man says, opening his shoulder bag. He digs up a leaflet which had a couple pages of paper riveted together."Here."

"What's this?" Kurt asks, when he gave it to him.

"It's my poems. Please, just read a couple of them. I would really appreciate it."

Kurt looks at the cheaply made 'book' he gave, which read 'Languages of Love by Blaine Anderson'. "Blaine Anderson?" Kurt asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah," he smiles by the call of his name, then pointing at himself proudly. "That would be me."

"Not a very catchy name," Kurt jokes.

"I won't need one when I have my poems," Blaine replies with pride, Kurt surprised that he wasn't offended by his words. Kurt nods, browsing the poems through quickly, and folding the poem flier to his vest pocket. Blaine looked uncomfortable when he folded it, but didn't say anything. Instead, he asked, softly, "And who you might be?"

"Don't you know my name?" He seemed offended. Blaine chuckled.

"Well, your last name must be Hummel, unless you have stolen this bookstore from someone," Blaine figured out playfully, (since the name of the bookstore was 'The Hummel Bookstore') "but since you don't have a name tag or anything, I think I have to guess."

"That would take forever," Kurt smiles. "My name is Kurt."

"Kurt," Blaine says his name gently, with a spark in his eyes. "I guess I will be seeing you around."