Rachel was well aware of the loud noise the heels of her boots made each time she took a step on the wooden floorboards of their apartment. It made her uncomfortable, and sometimes, on the rare occasions she managed to get the hint and realise when people didn't want to hear her (for whatever strange, rather bizarre reason), the shoes ruined the silence. They were still an example of beautiful footwear, however, so she wore them around New York, trying to look glamorous and as if she had known the city for years. Quite frankly, they just needed more rugs for the place to soften the hard wooden knock, since being uncomfortable could quite possibly knock Rachel Berry's self esteem, and she needed that for Broadway.
After too much loud, obnoxious clip-clopping, however, Rachel found herself closer to where she wanted to be- standing right over the hunched figure of one Kurt Hummel, who was currently sitting on his bed (she'd borrowed his chair earlier to change a light bulb, and forgotten to return it), using a book as a clipboard a single sheet of paper. She cringed, seeing him. He was wearing one of Blaine's shirts again and the way he was drawing….
To be completely honest, she hadn't known Kurt as well as she should have. She thought that they'd been really close friends for two years before moving in together, but he seemed to know loads about her- she was allergic to tomatoes, had the worst morning breath, wasn't actually afraid of spiders (although it was always good to practise melodrama at any opportune moment) and…just so much more than she knew about him. It made her realise, within the first week of them living together, the extent of how self absorbed she really was. Since, really, she should have known what Kurt's favourite colour was, right? He knew her top six, in order. And her most despised three. He had known her favourite food for two years. She had only recently noticed the way he looked longingly at fancy French restaurants, and that he always choose a soup from the deli. Maybe she had talked too much and maybe she did need to listen more? Possibly?
If she had, she would have learnt that Kurt was good at art, and drew. A lot. How had she missed that? That her best friend had filled sketchpads, and kept them all? Painted abstractly, doodled love struck cartoons, shaded where he wanted to be. That art, to Kurt, was an outlet for him, the same way Barbara ballads were for her. Only with fewer tears and more paint splattered floor boards. She also didn't think Kurt would be this quiet a roommate. It was nice though, comforting, refreshing, after a day of NYADA.
Peering over the skinny (she needed to start to get Kurt to gain weight, and soon) shoulder, she noted the fast, flicky twitches of the boy's hand. It seemed aggressive, and the black ink pen he was using was violently maiming the pure paper beneath it, dark lines of cross hatching making stark shadows.
There were buildings- tall ones. New York ones, almost. But not quite. Too cold, and unimpressive. It was more like a Lima version of New York, if that made sense. The hand stopped trembling, the pen's nib poised on the page. Kurt had realised she was stood right behind him. He didn't jump, and his lack of surprise scared Rachel, just a little. She didn't want to admit to herself why.
It was then that Rachel noted the two figures sat the bottom of the page, in one of the small areas where there was no shadow cast by a building. They boys were holding hands, and one was wearing trousers which showed his ankle. The tallest of the pair was wearing a hairpiece which reminded Rachel of the wig Kurt had worn back in sophomore year, in Gaga week.
"Kurt…" This was yet another situation where she wished she'd listened more in the years previously. Then that way, she might know what to say right now. Instead, she pulled off the uncomfortable, yet stylish boots Kurt had found for her at a market stall, and sat on the bed. Her feet hurt, and the dark soft duvet was comparable to a massage at that moment, nearly.
He was still looking at the drawing. Then Rachel realise he must have heard her loud heels. He wasn't actually dead and telepathic. She wasn't scared at all anymore, as a tear was shuffling down his cheek, wary and slow, because Kurt was human and emotional, but able to communicate, even if it wasn't with words, but salted rain drops. And words- Rachel didn't need them either anymore, not really.
Of course, she said the empty ones that weren't really empty- the "Shush, you'll be okay", and "I'm so, so sorry Kurt, you'll get through this", but actions were much greater than that, so the noises didn't really matter. She reached across and hugged him, and he responded so quickly, Rachel knew that this is what he had been waiting for. Later, she would lead him to her bedroom, and they'd eat soup (the un-posh fancy kind, without excess herbs and funny French stuff floating around), since her Dads had bought a blender, and they had left over vegetables in the refrigerator that needed using.
Then, they would talk a bit about Finn, but more about Blaine, and Kurt world cry again, but make a resolve to call him and talk to him in the morning, a resolve that this time he would stick too. They would make other promises too; Rachel's- not to get downhearted in class, and to listen more, and Kurt's- to believe it when Rachel told him it wasn't his fault that Blaine cheated, and to make more time for eating and sleeping- the latter he them promptly did at ten, leaving Rachel drowsy but not quite ready for to say a complete goodbye to, that day.
Silently, this time with no boots, she re-entered Kurt's room, and tidied, replacing pencils, pastels, paints and brushes, back where they should go. Folding clothes, and lining up shoes. The clutter that had accumulated in just five days was surprising, but quickly sorted, until finally, there was just that one sheet of paper. The one with the buildings, discarded, sobbing on the bed. Rachel not knowing what to do with it, picked it up. The single drop of salt water from before had made the ink bleed, and the dark shadows from the towers had drowned the two boys. More quickly, she placed the sheet in the bin, retired back to her bedroom, deciding on an early night to make breakfast for both of them the next day.
A.N: Thank you so much for reading this. It's quite late/early, and after reading through twice, I'm not sure what to think of this piece. It's been a while since I've written for pleasure, and it's been an enjoyable two hours, but I'm undecided about the quality of the finished work. I am from the UK, and haven't been able to watch a single episode of Series Four, so for the purpose of this short drabble/one-shot, I'm relying on spoilers from tumblr- I'm sorry for any inaccuracies you may find. This is also my first Glee fic, which I'm a little nervous about. I hope you enjoyed reading, and a review would be appreciated so, so much, since I really want to improve. Have a lovely day to all of you.