13:57

The city rises up below him. Kurt sucks in a breath as the plane soars over Staten Island. He sucks in a breath, because even though he's been here before, it all feels so delightfully, deliciously new. He presses his face against the window, ignoring the disgruntled sound from the man sitting beside him, ignoring the way that his nose is smushed up in such a way that he must look like a pig. None of that matters, because he can see the Statue of Liberty, just there, standing proud and alone on Liberty Island. He can see the skyline of New York City – the Financial District, and then the Brooklyn Bridge, and the Manhattan Bridge. He sucks in a breath, because this is too much, it's just too unbelievable.

He's finally made it. He's escaped Ohio.

The plane is lower now, and the blocky buildings of Queens are eating up the jeweled skyline of Manhattan. He settles back in his seat, a silly grin plastered across his face. He ignores the graffiti on the buildings, the way that he can see junky old cars littering the streets. Sure, he recognizes that Queens is, technically, a part of New York, but it's not going to be his New york.

His city is going to be early morning bagels and coffee, musicals at night, wandering hand in hand with his gorgeous boyfriend through the Union Square Farmers' Market and to listen to the buskers at Washington Square. His city is going to be Broadway shows with Rachel, romantic picnics in Central Park, and eventually a proposal at Serendipity. His city is going to be glitter and fame.

The plane hits the ground with a jolt, jerking Kurt back into reality. A small shiver of fear rises in his stomach. He's only flown on a plane twice before: his junior year, to Nationals here. Senior year Nationals had taken place in Chicago, and they'd just taken a bus.

He's never ridden a plane before, and never had to figure out how to get to an unknown destination. It's with trembling fingers that he drags his shoulder satchel out from under the seat in front of him, and grabs out the sheet of paper that tells him the address of his dorm. He knows that he's gnawing on his bottom lip, a nervous habit that he's been trying to get rid of for years. At that moment he doesn't care 00 there's no one there to see him, at least.

Satisfied that he has the street and name memorized: 9th street, not that hard – he pulls out his phone, and quickly notices the three missed texts and one missed call. The call, of course, is from his Dad, and he knows that he'll have to call him back soon. But first, to save time, he tells himself, he looks at the messages.

Just checked into the dorms. Going to Lincoln Center for an opening Gala. Julliard is fantastic!That one was from Rachel.

Miss you. ): Blaine, of course.

Burt's freaking out. Call him ASAP as soon as possible. PLEASE.

Kurt grins a little as he deletes his stepbrothers message. University of Ohio starts a week later than NYU, so Finn is still at home. Kurt shoots quick responses to Rachel and Blaine (Still on for breakfast at Tiffany's tomorrow? and Miss you, too! 3) before finally calling his dad.

Burt Hummel picks up on the second ring. "Hello? Kurt? That you?"

"Hi, Dad," Kurt rolls his eyes a little. The plane is done moving, and most of the passengers are up like shots, rummaging in overhead bins, or just milling around awkwardly mere feet from their seats. "We just landed. The plane ride went fine."

"Oh, good," Burt says, clearing his throat a little. "Glad to hear it. Give me a call when you check in, yeah?

"Of course, Dad," Kurt says. "I've got to go now. . .we're getting off the plane."

They're not yet – or rather, he's not, not based upon his cheap tickets in the very back. But he can see the movement near the front of the plane, the way people are jostling around in first class. He tries to ignore the mini explosions going off in his stomach, as he shoulders his leather satchel (a Christmas present from Blaine) and tries to stand in the cabins' cramped quarters. He shifts a little, gazing out at the flat, grey waters of the . . .of the. . .well, of whatever river runs around Laguardia Airport.

It takes him almost an hour to deboard and retrieve his luggage. He's staring at it all hopelessly – three checked pieces and two carry-ons. This, of course, is after his father had flatly refused to pay for more checked pieces. In the interest of peace, Kurt had agreed to leave the majority of his wardrobe at home. Of course, he fully expects to pick up some more when he's home for Thanksgiving. Then the rest after Christmas break. Still, although he'd been furious at his dad initially, he's now completely confused with what to do with the luggage that he did bring. There's no Finn in New York to help him cart it around.

Eventually he swipes his card for one of the Smartcarts, and wheels it outside. His dad, nervous about safety in the city, had given him cash to take a cab to campus. Normally, Kurt would just happily pocket the money and figure out his own way to get there, but he's mildly trepiditious about getting anywhere in the city. He hadn't been here in two years, and then he'd been with a teacher. They hadn't had to ride the subway, or take a taxi, or figure out the bus system. Mr. Schue had just loaded them on a charter at the Newark airport, and they'd ridden in air conditioned bliss to their hotel on 72nd street. He doesn't know how to get to Washington Square. . .doesn't even know how to get to 9th street.

So, rather than making some easy money, he holds tightly to the sheet of paper with his new address, and gets into the line to pick up a taxi.

It ends up costing him $45, which means that he gets to keep $15. He supposes that will pay for his breakfast with Rachel in the morning. He gets out of the taxi, struggling to lift his luggage out of the back. The driver doesn't help at all, just sits in the front seat, jabbering away in some foreign language on his Bluetooth. How rude.

"Hi, there!" a perky young blonde in a glaring neon pink t-shirt comes up to him. Though Kurt disdains her tacky dress, he does appreciate the Midwestern friendliness, and instinctively smiles at her.

"Hi," he says, a little shyly.

"You're a new student, right?" she asks, nearly bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. She throws a hand out at him, pumping his hand vigorously. "I'm one of the Move-In Makers. You have a whole bunch of registration stuff to go through, but if you'd like, I can get some of the guys to help drag your stuff to the dorm."

"That would be great," Kurt says in relief.

"Great," the girl says. "By the way, my name's Liz. I'm a second year, English major."

"Um, Kurt," he says in response. "Undecided, I guess."

"That's normal," Liz says, infectious grin still firmly in place. "I always think it's a good move for a freshman, anyway. How do you know what you want to do, when you haven't even started studying, right?"

She whistles sharply, and two boys, also clad in neon colored shirts, unwind themselves fro their leaning positions against the wrought-iron fences. Kurt finally takes a moment to breathe in the air, and look around. The buildings here are shorter, thick little brownstones, some with ivy crawling over them. Over the top, he can just see the glittering tops of some of the city's skyscrapers. He can't quite stop the grin from spreading across his face, even though he just knows that it makes him look like an ignorant cowpoke.

But he's here. In New Freaking York City. Tomorrow he's going to meet his best friend for coffee. The day after that, his boyfriend will be entering the city. And together, the three of them are going to conquer the city.

Xxx

Kurt's exhausted by the time that he finishes with registration, and ID photos, and class schedules and meal plans. All that he wants to do is unpack his luggage, sort his clothing, take a shower, and go to sleep.

Except that he's forgotten that he's living in a dorm.

He walks in, and his heart instantly falls. Because yes, of course he'd realized that his dreams of a loft apartment overlooking Broadway were just fantasies of a naïve child, but they'd still existed. He'd kind of accepted that it would be smaller than he'd anticipated, and that' he'd have to deal with a roommate, but never, not once, had he imagined this monstrosity.

His room has bunkbeds. Actual, honest to Gaga bunkbeds.

He realizes, on closer inspection, that they aren't actually bunkbeds, but lofted beds. Underneath is a computer desk, a small bookshelf, and a dresser, holding the mattresses aloft. He supposes that it's a little better than a bunkbed, but not by much. As he struggles to drag in his three suitcases, which the Move-In Makers had helpfully put in the hallway for him, he realizes with a sinking sensation that he has nowhere to put all his clothes. There's only a tiny closet against one wall, and the half dressers.

The walls are made of concrete slabs, painted a dull off-white color that totally clashes with his complexion. There's a sink against one wall, with just a tiny mirror above it. The window doesn't open when he tries it. He looks around in panic. Where's the toilet? Where's the shower?

And then it hits him, the words in the brochure, that he'd kind of just glossed over. He falls onto his bed, all of the excitement of unpacking slowly dissipating. He's going to have to leave some of his clothes in the suitcase, and they're going to get wrinkled and disgusting. He'd going to half to showering the same room was other boys, jus ta thin shower curtain separating hi from all of them. Blaine hasn't even seen him naked yet, and they've been dating for a year and a half. All of a sudden, all of these random guys that Kurt's never met are going to be seeing him shirtless, seeing him in a towel.

No, he reminds himself fiercely. No, you're going to have a fabulous time, and these worries are stupid and unfounded. You're in New York, and it's going to be the most amazing year of your life.

His mini-pep talk is broken off as the door swngs open, and a laughing boy falls into the room, followed by a pair of genially smiling old people. Kurt pushes himself up by his elbows, and wipes hastily at his cheeks, relieved that there aren't any tear tracks to wipe away.

"Hello," the woman says, brushing by the other two. She looks nice, her hair cut short, a nice chestnut brown. Kurt doubts it's her natural color, but it does complement her complexion well. "I'm Andrea, and this is my son, Timothy. You must be Timmy's roommate."

"I guess so," Kurt says with a self-conscious chuckle. He stands, and shakes her hand. "Kurt Hummel."

"Hey!" Timothy says, dropping his suitcase with a resounding clang. He moves up and hugs Kurt tightly, before he has any say on it, clapping him on the back. Kurt tries not to wince, but he secretly thinks he might bruise from the friendly gesture. "Nice to meet you, bro."

Oh. Oh, he's one of those guys. Kurt smiles at the other boy, carefully assessing features. Straight, clean look to him, all straight angles and Nordic heritage. He looks like a healthier, less nerdy version of the Dalton boys. His broad shoulders just scream of years playing football. He's missed a spot shaving.

"Well, we'll just be leaving you here," Tim's unannounced father says. He quickly hugs his son, before stepping back. "Have a great time at school, son."

Tim's mom takes a bit longer, but within minutes they're both gone, leaving just Tim and Kurt alone in the room. Awkwardly, Kurt motions to his suitcases.

"I haven't started unpacking yet. I guess we each just get half the closet?"

Tim chuckles at that. He stands and stretches, cracking his back as he does so, and exposing a small stretch of skin between the top of his pants and the bottom of his shirt. Kurt looks away respectfully. Not that he would be checking the guy out – Tim may be good-locking, but he's not Blaine – but because he doesn't want to get a reputation already. He knows how it works. Because he's gay, everyone will assume that he's checking them out. It sucks, but he's learned to accept it.

"Don't worry about it," Tim says. "It looks like you have a ton of clothes. I just have jeans and t-shirts and whatever. I'll just throw them in my dresser. Or in a pile."

Kurt feels a sudden wash of affection for his new roommate, and his lack of desire to need closet space. "Thanks," he says. "I think I may have overpacked."

Tim immediately opens his suitcase, and begins pulling things out, so Kurt does the same, watching his new roommate surreptitiously out the side of his eye. The other boy hadn't lied – it really did appear that he'd only packed jeans and t-shirts.

After about five minutes, Tim pulls out an iHome, and his face lits up. "Hey, Kurt, you don't mind we if listen to some tunes, do you?"

"No, that sounds really good," Kurt says. So Tim plugs in the iHome and quickly scrolls through his iPod, before deciding on something and plugging it in. A minute later Queen is playing, and Kurt can't quite help but start to laugh. Tim glances at him.

"You don't like Queen?" he asks.

"No, no, that's not it," Kurt says. He starts hanging up his jackets and blazers. "It's just. . .my stepbrother loves classic rock."

"He's got good taste," Tim says. They both continue their work until Tim is done. Kurt has only finished half his first suitcase, and is trying to decide what pieces are most in need of extra care. He doesn't want to be disorganized. Tim clambers up into his bed, and leans back. His head brushes the ceiling, and his legs kick mindlessly.

"So, Kurt, tell me about yourself. Where you from?"

"I'm from Lima, Ohio," Kurt says. He frowns. Is that a stain on his white skinny jeans? It looks suspiciously like a chocolate smear, which means that it's all Finn's fault. "What about you?"

"Oh, I'm from upstate," Tim says, waving his hand aimlessly. "Ohio, that's pretty far away. What made you come to NYU?"

"I've always wanted to live in New York City. College just seemed like the perfect time to start."

"Yeah. That makes sense. My whole family went here, so I'm just, like, a legacy or whatever. I'll probably rush. What about you?"

Somehow, Kurt doesn't think he iss talking about the Filene's Basement wedding weekend, or the Kleinfeld Christmas discount rush.

"Greek," Tim says helpfully. "Like a frat."

"Oh," Kurt says. He begins putting his underwear away, feeling very self-conscious, as the other boy is still idly watching him. "I'm not really into that. I was thinking about doing one of the theater groups, or the a cappella groups."

"You sing?"

"My high school glee club went to Nationals my junior and senior years."

"Wow, you must be really good," Tim says. Kurt just shrugs. He feels incredibly uncomfortable. He doesn't know this boy at all. He's tired and exhausted, and more than a little bit overwhelmed, and he just doesn't feel like doing all the small talk just then.

He's saved from having to say anything else as his phone buzzes with a new message. He grabs it immediately, grinning as he sees that it's from Blaine. Tim snorts.

"That your girlfriend? You totally have that look on your face."

"Um. . ." Kurt doesn't really know what to say. He doesn't want to lie, and he absolutely doesn't want to deny who he is. At the same time, he's going to have to live with this guy for the next eight months. What if he's some kind of a homophobe? Even if he's not, what if it makes him uncomfortable. Instead of answering Tim, Kurt just opens his message.

Hope everything's going well. See you in three days! Love you. . .COURAGE

"Not a girlfriend," Kurt says, shutting his phone with a sharp click. "My. . .um. . .my boyfriend, actually."

Tim doesn't meet a beat. "How long have you two been together?"

This time Kurt's lips really do break into a broad smile. He can talk about Blaine for hours, literally, and he feels some of the weight that he's been holding on his shoulders fall. He's been telling himself over and over again, for the last few weeks of summer, that he has nothing to worry about in New York, that people will be accepting and that it will be awesome, but it's still been there. . .the fear that he'll never put McKinley behind.

"Year and a half," Kurt says. "But we were friends before that."

"You guys didn't break up after high school?" Tim asks. He lays back on the bed, wrapping his arms behind his head. "My girlfriend totally dumped me after graduation because she didn't want a long distance thing."

"No. He's actually coming to the city," Kurt says. "He's going to Columbia."

Tim whistles. "Smart."

Kurt is finishing up with his socks when Tim swings down from his top bunk. "Bro, I'm starving," he says. "Come with to get some food from the cafeteria?"

Kurt glances at his two still-full suitcases, at the half-empty closer. He really wants to finish unpacking, and then maybe call Blaine. He wants to set up his computer and get on facebook, to check his plans with Rachel, and he wants to hang up the pictures he's brought, of his family, and Glee, and his boyfriend.

Instead of doing those things, he gives Tim a tight smile, and nods. "Sure," he says.

After all, it's time for Kurt to start putting Ohio behind him, and to get into the New York state of mind. Which means making new friends, or at least nourishing this budding friendship with his roommate. Tim grins, all white teeth and sparkling blue eyes.

"Cool," he says, and h

A/N: Oh, Kurt, how will you do in the new world of college? And how will Rachel do? And Blaine?

COMING SOON: Rachel falls in love with Lincoln Center, Blaine goes apartment shopping, and Kurt finally gets a chance to wander through the city.