Characters: Finn Hudson, Kurt Hummel, Quinn Fabray, Mercedes Jones. (No OCs)
Pairings: Kinn. Past-Finchel.
Word Count: 2.097
Warnings: Racism, Homophobia.
Disclaimer: Glee and anything else you may recognize do not belong to me. Loosely based on the film adaption of "Breakfast at Tiffany's". The title comes from the song "Moon River".
Chapter One
He pulls the brown leather suitcases out of Strando's bright blue Ford Thunderbird with an undeserved amount of violence.
"Please, Finn. Try to understand."
The sound of the trunk closing with force didn't even penetrate his mind, whilst Strando kept looking at the car like he was trying to apologize for what he was putting it through.
"Jesse said he could get me into Broadway!"
Finn dragged the suitcases up the stairs, dismissing him with a "thank you" and a wave. The blond man didn't waste any time in running to his car and running his fingers over the blue metal, checking for any damage caused by Finn's hurt pride.
"Wasn't that the whole point of coming to New York?"
He fumbled with his keys for a few moments before managing to open the door and making his way into the dimly-lit landing.
"Well, that's an awful lot of hostility, right there." The voice came from a beautiful woman leaning on the open doorway of the bottom floor's apartment. Her blonde hair was loose over her shoulders and the pink robe covered everything, except her white hands. Finn was reminded of how early it really was.
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to wake you." He replied in a hushed voice, even though it was already quite useless at the moment.
The woman gave him a small smile, probably thinking the same.
"Don't worry. My roommate will be coming home any minute now, anyways." She looked at the suitcases before turning back to him. "Are you the new tenant?"
"Yeah, that's me. The tenant, I mean." He nodded absently and thrust his hand out for her. "Finn Hudson."
"Quinn Fabray." She replied taking his larger hand with her dainty one.
"Well, I'll get out of your hair, now." Finn informed her, grabbing his suitcases and making his way up the stairs. "Sorry again." He returned to a hushed voiced, which caused Quinn to give a short laugh.
"Don't worry about the noise, Mr Hudson. I'm already up and Figgins from the third floor could sleep through the Second Coming." She gave a small wave before closing the door behind her.
Finn hoisted the suitcases and steadily made his way up the stairs. He stood on the old welcome mat, his belongings on either side of him, as he struggled to open the door. He managed to nudge it open with his shoulder and the door swung open with an ominous sound. Finn stuck his head inside and looked around before hurling the suitcases carelessly into the apartment.
He cringed at the sound they made when they collided with the floor, before slowly stepping over them and examining his new home.
While renting the apartment without having seen it before wasn't the cleverest idea he'd ever had, it wasn't the worst either. That had to have been moving to New York, on Rachel's insistence. His mother, back home in Ohio, had warned him not to do anything rash, but he hadn't listened.
Things had been good at first, just the two of them. Then came the failed auditions and Rachel's disappointment when he found a job he loved as a mechanic, whilst she couldn't get enough of the artistic world in which she had managed to gain entry. And then she started to spend an awful lot of time with St. James…
Even though he'd admit he could be quite dim and oblivious, he also tried to see the best in everything. That meant that the abrupt end to his deteriorating relationship had taken him by surprise when it really shouldn't have.
Which left him where he was at the moment. In the middle of a barely-furnished one-bedroom apartment, with two suitcases and his job at the garage.
All in all, it could be worse, he decided.
He took the day off to move into his apartment, even though it took less than an hour to fix things up like he wanted them. And by fixing, he meant shoving everything inside the closet and lying down on the bed.
The following day, however, demanded that he get up and go to work. His boss wasn't so forgiving as to let him skip two days in one week.
Placing the fedora on his head, he made his way, yawning, down the stairs. He was startled at the sound of a banging, followed by hushed laughter.
On the landing stood a man, meticulously dressed, with striking, clear eyes. He was giggling with a shorter, dark skinned woman in a red coat and a broad brimmed hat. They also appeared to be slightly drunk, laughing at everything. The man also seemed to be fumbling with the keys in his hands. The woman turned to see him there and elbowed the man in the ribs.
"Well, hello there." The man smiled brightly, and Finn found himself responding in kind. The woman, on the other hand, kept looking at him cautiously.
"I'm Finn Hudson, I've just moved upstairs." He reached out his hand eagerly for the other man to shake. The other man took it with a smile and a quick sweep of Finn's body with his eyes.
"Kurt Hummel." The sound of a throat clearing brought them out of their daze, the both realizing that the handshake had gone off for long enough. "And this is Mercedes Jones, one of my best friends."
The woman's grip was strong and certain, something Finn was slightly surprised by.
"Pleasure." She drawled, managing to make Finn feel inadequate under her gaze.
"Well, I'm sure Mr Hudson, here…"
"Just Finn, please." He interrupted Kurt.
"Only if you call me Kurt." The man interrupted with a smile. "As I was saying, I'm sure Finn here, has something to do, and I, at least, need some sleep. So, if you'll excuse us." He directed to Finn, who nodded.
"Of course." He was pretty sure he was making that expression his mother had dubbed his 'puppy face', but Kurt just smiled widely as Mercedes walked past by him and into the apartment. "It was nice to meet you."
"You too. Goodbye." Kurt shut the door and Finn stared at the door for a few minutes before making his way quickly out in the street.
What had just happened?
"What was that?" Mercedes asked as he was hanging up his coat. He cringed at her tone. The kind of tone that made him want to run and hide under the kitchen table. The kind of tone that could force Khrushchev to play nice with the capitalists. Instead, she was relegated to the role of nightclub singer.
"What was what?" Yes, that's right. Play innocent and she'd be merciful.
"Boy, you know exactly what I'm talking about." No mercy, then. "What were you doing, throwing yourself on your new neighbor?"
"There was no throwing of any kind. I was just being nice." He took the chance to duck into the kitchen, looking in his pockets for a cigarette.
"No, honey. I've seen you be nice. That was you imagining all the things you'd like to do the man." She was leaning against the counter, her arms crossed over her chest, looking as he fiddled with the stove.
"Oh, Mercedes, trust me." He sent her a wicked grin as he bent slightly to light the cigarette on the stove. "If that were going through my mind, it would have been a lot more noticeable."
"There was something I didn't have to hear." Quinn took that moment to walk in the kitchen amidst their laughter. "Hello, Mercedes." The woman in question sent her a shaking wave, still trying to stifle her giggles.
"Liar." Kurt drawled, as Quinn turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow. He reached over her grabbing the can the shorter woman had been trying to reach.
"You always put it on the shelf you know I can't reach." She grumbled as she opened and smelled the ground coffee beans, sighing in bliss.
"I just like to watch you stretch." He smiled back, taking the can.
"Boy, if I didn't know you." Mercedes leaned forward. "I have to go. I still have to get some sleep and change."
"And I still have to get ready to go to work. If we're not there by 9 o'clock, Emma goes nuts." Quinn added, stretching her arms over her head. "Come one, Mercedes. I'll walk you to the door."
"Alright. Bye, honey." Mercedes called, giving a small wave as she adjusted her hat in the entrance mirror.
"Bye, see you tonight." He replied, turning on the water tap, waiting for the pot to fill. He heard Mercedes and Quinn making their goodbyes and the front door close.
"Kurt, do you mind making some coffee?" Quinn asked, going past the kitchen and in her bedroom.
"On it." He called back, putting the pot on the stove and taking a drag of his cigarette.
It wasn't like Mercedes was saying. It's not like he even could throw himself at complete strangers.
Besides, looking wasn't throwing, so to speak. He could look. It's not like it's a crime. Except it is. He'll just have to stick to looking at what he can't have until another disaster of a relationship rolls back into his life.
The showers turns off around the same time as the water starts boiling, and by the time Quinn walks in, dressed in a pencil skirt and a green blouse, with a towel wrapped around her head, he was already pouring the coffee in her cup.
"So…" He started as she grabbed the cup and started to pour an obscene amount of sugar in it. "Have you met the new tenant?"
"Yeah, something Hudson." She replied taking a sip of the coffee. "I met him yesterday when he was moving in. Why?"
"No reason." He answered nonchalantly. Quinn, apparently, was not convinced, slowly lowering the coffee cup from her lips and narrowing her green eyes at him.
"Kurt." It was a warning tone. Forget the USSR, if those two teamed up, they could take over the world.
"What?" He was getting slightly angry. "What is it with everyone today treating me like I'm some stupid kid?"
"Besides the fact that you kind of look like Jerry Mathers?" She asked completely unimpressed with his hissy fit. "We worry about you. You're our friend and we all remembered what happen last time you got involved with someone."
"It wasn't all bad." He defended weakly, even though he spent the month following his breakup in such a slump that even Sylvester had to have a talk about his depression scaring off her patrons. And that was saying something, considering she insulted them on a daily basis. "Besides, this isn't anything like that. I just think he's good looking, like I think Brando or James Dean are good-looking."
"Nice examples you picked, there." She pointed out, standing up and letting the towel fall from her head with a tug.
"Shut up." He mumbled.
"Now, go get some sleep. You need it." She said with a smile, running her fingers through her hair.
"Yes, ma'am." He replied, standing up and making his way to his own bedroom. He could hear her in the bathroom as he stripped down to his briefs, too tired to put on pajamas, and crawled under the covers.
He heard the door open and Quinn tiptoeing inside. He gave a small smile as he turned to look at her.
"I'm awake." He raised his hands slightly and she smiled, sitting on the edge of his bed. "Hey, what's wrong?"
"Nothing, I just…" She raised her head from where she was looking carefully at the covert. "I don't want you to think I don't want you to be happy. I do. I…"
"I get it, Quinn. I really do." He laid a hand on her arm. "And let's face it. I'm not exactly a very balanced person, am I?" He saw the corners of her mouth quirk upwards. "Just tell me one thing." She looked up at his serious tone. "I don't really look like the Beaver, do I?"
She laughed, leaning forward, and kissed him on the forehead before standing up. She leaned on the doorway, in her perfectly applied makeup and styled beehive, and Kurt really wished he could be in love with her.
"Bye, Quinn." He said instead, burrowing his head in the pillow as the door closed behind her. He knows exactly how bad his life could really be and the situation is the best he could possibly wish for.