A/N: Written for Kurtoberfest prompts 'pumpkin' and 'costume', and inspired by an old movie, the name of which escapes me. Dedicated to the wonderful lovejoybliss, whom I adore 3
Mostly fluff. Brief reference of illness. A bit of anxiety. AU that assumes that Adam does not attend NYADA.
"Help me! Quick! I need a pumpkin!"
The words fire out so quickly from the man's mouth that his request is finished before the bells over the door stop jingling. Kurt looks up from the issue of Vogue open on the counter he's sitting behind and straight into the eyes of the most desperate man he's ever seen – harried for certain, hair that's been shoved beneath his knit cap breaking free around the rim, blue eyes shimmering from the cold, his face flushed from running, Kurt assumes, since he's panting like a tired dog, and the door has a brand new dent in it from where the man slammed into it before he realized it was a pull door and not a push.
"Uh…okay," Kurt says. He puts a worn business card into the binding of his magazine to mark his spot, then closes it to handle this manic customer. "You do realize you've just entered a costume shop, though. Not a Whole Foods Market."
"I know," the man says, nodding vigorously and taking a deep breath. "I need a pumpkin costume."
Kurt sits up straighter, intrigued by this man's request.
His adorable Downtown Abbey-esque accent.
And his slightly eccentric clothing choices (khakis and plaid flannels are so '90s grunge, and this man pulls it together nicely, but where on earth did he find a plaid shirt that includes three shades of brown that don't match? Kurt has to find a way to ask.)
"A pumpkin costume for yourself?" Kurt asks.
"No," the man says, shaking his head, a bashful smile on his lips. "For my little man, Jareth."
"Oh," Kurt says, only minorly disappointed at the mention of a son, but children have never been a deal breaker for Kurt.
"He's six," the man explains further, "and when his mum asked him what he wanted to be for Halloween, he said he wanted to be a pumpkin."
Okay, wife is definitely a deal breaker,Kurt thinks, but he chuckles at the thought of a little boy, who Kurt imagines looks somewhat like this man – sandy blond hair, possibly the same sky blue eyes, and lightly tanned complexion, waddling around the streets of New York dressed as a giant, gap toothed Jack-O-Lantern.
"He doesn't even want to be a Jack-O-Lantern," the man says in distress, surprising Kurt into wondering if he hadn't voiced that thought out loud. "A Jack-O-Lantern costume I can find. He wants to be a regular, boring old pumpkin."
"How adorable," Kurt says, giving the man a flirty smile when he knows he shouldn't. He can't seem to help himself. Something about the way this man is freaking out over trying to find his little boy a pumpkin costume is too endearing.
"I tried to talk him out of it," the man says. "For weeks actually. I've bought him every costume under the sun I thought he might like – Iron Man, Captain America, Thor, My Little Pony…"
"My Little Pony?" Kurt asks in surprise. He's not judging the child's costume choices; he's genuinely curious.
"That's a whole other story entirely," the man says, pushing on.
Maybe for another time?
The words almost make their way out of Kurt's mouth before he mentally slaps himself in the face.
Married. With a kid married. Gear down, Hummel.
"Anyway, he won't budge," the man says. "And his mum, she's a really awesome seamstress, but she's been…sick…" He pauses and swallows after the word sick,and Kurt feels his heart double thump. It's the same inflection he remembers his father using when he would tell people that Kurt's mother was sick. It leads Kurt to believe that 'sick' might be a vague reference to something more devastating than the flu that's been going around.
"Oh," Kurt says. "I'm sorry to hear that."
The man pinches his lips between his teeth to keep from going into it, and simply nods.
"Well, it's been kind of a tough time on the little guy," the man continues. "So I thought, you know, if he wants to be a pumpkin so badly, let him be a pumpkin. Only, I can't sew to save my life."
"Did you try papier mache?" Kurt asks.
"Unfortunately, yes," the man says with another small, bashful smile, looking subconsciously at his hands. Kurt peeks and sees bits of dried plaster embedded underneath his nails. "But I thought that a professional costume shop might have something like a really kick-ass pumpkin. I've checked online, but I've had no luck. I even tried calling some of the performing arts schools, but nobody has one. I guess nobody ever plays a vegetable in a school play anymore."
"I guess not," Kurt says sympathetically. He looks at the distraught man and sighs. Kurt feels for him. He really does. He seems like a nice guy – sweet, kind, and caring to a fault, racing around New York City, trying to fulfill a little boy's wish. And even with his bittersweet story, he's a nice change from the customers this shop usually gets, three blocks away from a handful of local high schools and the mall – cosplayers, Ren Faire folk, and during the autumn season, teenagers looking for whatever sexy comic book character they can get their hands on. In the close to four years since Kurt's been part-timing here, his second job to pay the bills while he attends college, it's been a while since he's had anyone come in asking for a child's costume. They did outfit the Atlantic Children's Playhouse performance of Cinderella a year back, but the pumpkin from that performance was six feet tall, and trampled in the last act.
"I'm sorry," Kurt says, "but we don't have any pumpkin costumes here."
The man stares at him blankly, lips parting an inch, as if he's about to argue, refusing to accept what Kurt is saying.
"How about a squash?" he asks sadly.
Kurt's heart breaks a sliver.
"We don't have any fruits or vegetables…or food costumes in general," Kurt says. "I'm so sorry."
The man sighs, looking about a foot shorter when he's done.
"Well, this was the last store on the list," the man says in defeat. "I can't believe in all of New York City…" The man taps the counter with his hand, like putting a period at the end of a sentence, stopping himself before he unloads his grief at this situation on Kurt. "Thank you, anyway," he says with a weak smile, turning to go out the way he barreled in.
Kurt watches him start to leave and he knows he can't let him. So, maybe the most compassionate (and probably the most handsome) man Kurt's met in ages is married, but that's not the issue, dammit! His kid still deserves to be a pumpkin!
"Wait," Kurt calls out before the man's hand reaches the door. "You know, I'm majoring in Musical Theater at NYADA." The man turns back slowly, that hopeful look returning to his face, lifting the corners of his downturned lips. "I design and make a lot of my own costumes. Maybe I can help you."
"Do you…do you really think so?" the man asks, walking back to the counter.
"Yes," Kurt says confidently. "If I can make a Joan of Arc suit of armor in a day, I'm sure I can whip up a pumpkin."
"Oh my God!" the man says, jumping up and down, doing a tiny dance. "Are you serious?" Kurt nods, chuckling at the man's ridiculous jig. "You're a life saver! That would be…that would be incredible!" But then he stops dancing, and his face falls again. "Oh, but I'm afraid I probably can't pay you what you're worth."
Kurt bites his lower lip. What he's worth. He's been so jaded by friends and boyfriends since he's moved to New York, he didn't know there were people out there who worried about things like that anymore.
"Meh," Kurt says. "I'll take a ton of pictures and put them in my portfolio for school. Chalk it up to work experience. Just pay for the material, and the labor's on me."
"Oh, I couldn't," the man says, shaking his head to decline Kurt's generosity but with the widest smile growing on his face. "That's too much…"
"I insist," Kurt says. "I need the extra credit points," he lies. "You'd be doing me a favor."
That seems to sit okay with the man, because he stops shaking his head.
"Well, maybe I can at least buy you dinner?" he offers. "While you're toiling over construction of this gourd."
"Absolutely," Kurt says without thinking, then his mind skids to a stop. "Uh, will you're…wife be joining us?" he asks, confused. Oh, please don't be a cheater. Don't be an asshole, he prays in his head. There's so many in New York. I've already unloaded one. That's enough for my lifetime.
"My…wife?" the man asks, his brow wrinkling, looking as confused as Kurt feels. "Oh no! No no no!" he says with a laugh. "Jareth's mum is my sister. Jareth is my nephew."
"Oh!" Kurt says, bringing his hands up to cover his mouth when he laughs, quietly cheering in his head.
"No, no. I'm single,"the man says, putting emphasis on single. "My boyfriend and I separated over a year ago."
"Oh. Well, in that case, my name's Kurt." Kurt sticks out his hand, and the man takes it.
"Adam," he says, holding Kurt's hand for a moment after he shakes it, giving it a gentle squeeze in a way that makes Kurt's toes tingle. "So, can we declare tonight a go then?" Adam asks, raising his eyebrows hopefully.
"Meet me here tonight at seven," Kurt says, "and I'll turn your nephew into a pumpkin."