Kurt stared down at the letter he had found wedged right at the back of the drawer.
"Rachel!"
She appeared from round the archway leading to the living room.
"Yes, Kurt?" she asked sweetly.
"What is this?" He brandished the paper in her face, making her blink and step backwards.
"It's...a letter?" She looked confused, but it was manufactured, and her eyes were guilty.
"Rachel, you hid this in the drawer. Why didn't you tell me?" Kurt's voice was steadily climbing in pitch and volume. Rachel shrank away and gazed around huntedly, but stayed silent.
"Rachel, if we're getting evicted it's not just your responsibility to fix!"
Five years ago, Kurt had finally escaped to the city of his dreams, with his best friend and big ambitions for the future. Within a year, they'd begun renting their apartment, not far from Kurt's favourite little cafe (it sold the best coffee ever, honestly, the mocha was amazing.) They'd both been accepted at NYADA and had both graduated with many credits to their names, and Rachel had recently begun working as Wendla in Spring Awakening, which had re-opened on Broadway. However, work for Kurt wasn't quite so easily gotten. (He'd had a short spell in The Sound of Music, but that didn't last very long)
In times of emergency, they relied heavily on Rachel's meagre income as the sole means of paying the rent, but it was often late and they still owed some from a few months back. (it wasn't their fault; the landlord had been on holiday and they just forgot to forward the mail. Also Rachel hadn't been working that month because she'd been ill, but that was besides the point.)
Kurt had been auditioning practically every week, but he soon realised he might have to look beyond Broadway.
The day after Kurt discovered the eviction warning letter, he grabbed his coat and was out of the house before Rachel had woken up sufficiently to understand his vague explanations. He pulled his iPhone out of his pocket and sent a quick text to Quinn and Mercedes, asking them to meet him at the cafe near his house. They responded pretty much instantly (they were such good friends), so he sat down to wait for them.
As he sat at one of the tables outside, he started people-watching (and judging them on their outfits: still a fashionista after all?)
An old lady, in beige and grey, earned 4 out of 10, but she was smiling and cheerful.
A youngish girl, who looked spoiled and arrogant, wore a mish-mash of violent shades and patterns, which scored her an almight 1 out of 10.
A glowing pregnant woman in a smock and leggings which complemented her skin tone earned 7 out of 10.
A guy, about the same age as Kurt, had a bowtie and skinny jeans, which earned him 8 (it would have been nine, but that amount of gel in one's hair just isn't acceptable)
A tall man with a purple Mohican and a shocking yellow suit earned 2 out of 10 (Kurt admired his boldness at least)
And finally, finally, Quinn and Mercedes arrived, ordering coffee before settling into chairs.
"Kurt, what's up?" asked Mercedes, beaming at him, but he returned the smile weakly.
"Are you okay? Do you need our help?" Quinn looked anxious and concerned.
"Girls, I need you to help me find a job. We got a letter, warning us that we could be evicted next month if we don't pay the rent fast enough, and God knows we need that apartment, and I really – "
"Kurt, calm down, it's fine. I got this. By the way, you still keep in contact with any of the McKinley crowd other than us and Rach and Finn?"
Kurt looked confused, but shook his head.
"Actually, I haven't really heard from them in a while. I know Brittany, Santana, Tina and Mike were with a dance company..."
Mercedes reached for her phone without hesitating and speed-dialled 6. Kurt and Quinn exchanged glances, and the person on the other end of the line evidently picked up quickly.
"Santana?... yeah, Kurt...mmhmm...wait, you still got that club?...yeah? Need any singers? Pianists?...wait, I'll ask him and call you back, okay?"
Mercedes snapped her phone shut and pointed at Kurt.
"How about singing in Santana's nightclub?"
It was later that afternoon when Kurt strode away from the club...with a job. His audition had gone fantastically well, and he was to start that evening.
As he took his keys out of his pocket, the door swung open in front of his face.
"Kurt! Where have you been? I called Finn, and he said he hadn't seen you, and Mercedes' phone was engaged..."
Kurt broke in, pushing past her into the apartment
"Rachel, it's nice to see you too. Actually, I was with Mercedes...I've got a job!" Rachel squealed in excitement.
"Oh my God, seriously? That's amazing! We've got two months to pay all our debts and this month's rent...when are you starting?"
"Tonight, actually. I'll leave straight after dinner."
"I'm going out tonight as well – I've got an audition!"
Kurt fixed her with a stern glance.
"Do not touch your wardrobe. I will be with you after I've sorted what I'm wearing."
"But Kurt – "
"No decent friend would let you go out dressed like a toddler crossed with a grandma, like usual, Rachel. I'll sort your outfit out."
Rachel rolled her eyes and stalked into the living room, turning to call over her shoulder.
"Wait...where are you working?"
"Santana's got a nightclub, here in New York. I'm going to be singing and accompanying the dancers."
At exactly twenty six minutes past six, Kurt looked at himself in the mirror triumphantly, tweaking his black sequinned waistcoat and tight silver jeans. He took a deep breath to reassure himself. It'll be okay. You just have to go sing. It's just what you've always dreamed. You'll be fine.
He stepped carefully over to the front door, calculating how long his journey would take him.
"Bye, Rachel. Have fun at your audition!"
"Break a leg, Kurt, you'll be amazing!" came the reply from her bedroom. Kurt crossed his fingers that she would wear the deep red ensemble he'd laid out on her bed, stepping out into the warm April air.
He hovered on the pavement for a while before dashing across the road, hurrying until he reached the door of the club.
Backstage, Kurt panicked for a while, but the first song he had prepared was 'All That Jazz' from Chicago, which he'd sung hundreds of times at karaoke evenings (don't even ask).
Come on, babe
Why don't we paint the town?
And all that jazz
I'm gonna rouge my knees
And roll my stockings down
And all that jazz
Start the car
I know a whoopee spot
Where the gin is cold
But the piano's hot
It's just a noisy hall
Where there's a nightly brawl
And all that jazz
Slick yourhair
And wear your buckle shoes
And all that jazz
I hear that Father Dipp
Is gonna blow the blues
And all that jazz
Hold on, hon'
We're gonna bunny hug
I bought some aspirin
Down at United Drug
In case you shake apart
And wanna brand new start
To do that jazz
Oh, you're gonna see you
Sheba shimmy shake
And all that jazz
Oh, she's gonna shimmy
Till her garters break
And all that jazz
Show her where to park her girdle
Oh, her mother's blood'd curdle
If she'd hear her baby's queer
For all that jazz
Find a glass
We're playing fast and loose
And all that jazz
Right up here
Is where I store the juice
And all that jazz
Come on, babe
We're gonna brush the sky
I betcha lucky
Lindy never flew so high
'Cause in the stratosphere
How could he lend an ear
To all that jazz?
He finished to raucous applause from his audience, and he smiled and bowed before he and the dancers seamlessly moved into their next routine.
At the end of the evening, Kurt collapsed into one of the chairs in his dressing room, exhausted with the night's efforts. His phone vibrated, and Defying Gravity began to play, shaking him out of his daze, and he jumped before answering.
"Kurt! How did your first night go? I didn't get the part, but they're keeping me on record...what songs did you sing?" Kurt smiled fondly before getting up and fastening the door so they wouldn't be interrupted.
"That's great that they're keeping you on record! And my first night was really good..." Kurt relaxed into the sofa, happily gossiping with Rachel, until suddenly the peace was broken with an earsplitting siren, causing Kurt to shoot up from his chair.
"Rachel, I'm sorry, but I think that means I've got to go!"
"Kurt, is everything okay?"
"Yeah, sure, I think it's the fire alarm...probably a drill, but I'd better go, see you!"
Kurt hung up, then dropped his phone in his haste to get to the door, swearing but not picking it up. He scrambled over books and outfits (the best one was covered in pink glitter) before reaching the door and pushing. To his horror, he could see smoke curling through the cracks in the door – thick, black smoke.
"Oh, my God!" whispered Kurt, pushing harder at the door. Why wasn't it opening? Too late, he realised he'd bolted it at the top. Standing on his tiptoes, Kurt tried to see through the smoke to reach it, but his eyes were stinging.
"Santana! Brittany! Anyone?" he cried frantically, but received no answer. He was panicking now, fumbling at the door, trying desperately to get out. Tears were running down his face as he realised everyone else was probably outside by now, and he slid down the wall so he was on the floor.
An almighty crash echoed around the building as a section of the ceiling dropped without warning. Kurt leaped to reach his phone before it was destroyed, but the flames devoured it before his eyes. His head tipped backwards and he gave a hysterical laugh.
"Well, great first night at work, and then the building burns down...Rachel's going to kill me if I die before paying my share of the rent...just my luck to burn before the pay check..." Kurt rambled on to himself, closing his eyes and hitting the door ineffectually.
Suddenly, the door to the room was yanked off its hinges, and a figure jumped through, wearing a black hat that obscured its face and a red and black outfit. The somebody reached down and grabbed Kurt's shoulders.
"Oh my God, now I'm hallucinating random short people in my room – " Kurt was cut off abruptly by a sharp slap to his cheek.
"Snap out of it!" hissed a low voice. Kurt shook his head to clear his vision (it didn't work) and glared in the vague direction of the figure.
"Ow, that hurt!" The person took no notice and dragged Kurt to the window, leaving him there and running back through the door. A couple of seconds later, a firefighter appeared at the window, ready to pull Kurt out.
The next few minutes (or hours? He wasn't quite sure) went by in a blur for Kurt.
"Where...where's the guy?" He had to repeat himself three times before they could understand him through his coughing. Rachel was next to him, and drew her brows together in confusion before handing him a glass of water.
"What guy, Kurt?" Now Kurt frowned.
"The one who pulled me out, of course!"
"Do you mean the fireman? He's over there – "
"No! The guy who came in the door!"
Rachel shook her head.
"Kurt, nobody came in through the door. The only way we even knew you were in there was because the lights were on and Santana recognised it from out here. Maybe you were imagining things. It's okay, nobody blames you for this..."
"But he spoke to me! He slapped me!"
"Kurt, honey, come and lay down, you're probably just a little confused..."
Kurt submitted to her tugging him away, but was still adamant that he'd seen somebody who came and rescued him.
...Hadn't he?