Gossip Girl here. Your one and only source into the scandalous lives of Manhattan's elite.
Guess who's making a graceful waltz back into the Big Apple? That's right, K's just been spotted at Grand Central Station sporting last season's Fendi duffel bag and a morose expression. Why the long face, K? Didn't you miss Manhattan? Manhattan's certainly missed you.
Last we saw of K was when he'd smashed his martini glass at notorious playboy boyfriend Double S at Club Spectrum in a drunken relapse, just when we thought New York's favorite bad boy had been getting better. Sources say rehab in Kentucky. More sympathetic sources say a reform center Ohio. Ohio, folks. Papa Hummel must have wanted lay down the law hard into K.
And let's hope that R missed you as much as we've been hearing. She seems a K short of reckless in her final semester at NYADA before summer break. R's been behaving herself in K's semestral absence, almost disappearing from the radar. And by radar, I mean the only the one that counts.
Is she guilty? Or is she just cautious? Either way, she need no longer. The Upper East Side's about to be all shook up by one Kurt Hummel all over again.
Who we do know is excited for K's return? The Smythe family. Pics have been snapped of not only caterers and New York's finest party planners visiting Au Coeur du Luxe (there's a Wright in there somewhere…) but also Double S stopping by what seems to be last minute at Tiffany and Co.? Well, there's no question about what's about to unfold in this soiree. Is Double S really ready for that kind of monogamous commitment? Who is he trying to fool?
Get a helmet ready with your respective party suit, ladies and gentlemen. Because as much as this city loves a party; it also loves a trainwreck just as much.
You know you love me,
XOXO, Gossip Girl.
The rundown, hole-in-a-wall diner in Brooklyn was the last place anyone with a camera phone and 3G would spot Kurt Hummel. It was just how he liked it. How he decided he'd like it from now on, at least, how he was encouraged to be.
He knew he couldn't go to the Upper East Side just yet. He knew people never forgot a scandal, especially one left unexplained for months. Whether he liked it or not, he was a specimen in the Manhattan-sized dish.
Really, he blames his Old Self for every second look and whisper he'd gotten the second he'd stepped off Grand Central. His Old Self would have reveled under the attention, kiss a few babies and spill someone's soy macchiato, hopped in a cab and would have been wasted when the clock struck three in the afternoon with two boys hot on his heels by four and would have finished them off before dinner time.
He was better now. He thought. He paused. He filtered. Going back to New York felt too close to a culture shock and he decided it was a good thing.
Lugging in his large duffel bag, he ignored the curious stares of middle-aged soccer moms who were in unflattering high-waisted pajama pants and the leers of gruff, muscled motorcyclists. So he was out of place; that wasn't a problem he never faced before.
"What can I get you, hon?" came the shaky voice of an ancient looking woman from behind that counter.
"A large plate of fries, please." He smiled at the woman, who wrote his order down at an agonizingly slow pace "And an espresso."
"Will that be all?" she asked, nicotine-laced breath hitting Kurt's face that nearly caused him to gag "No dessert?"
"No, thank you." He replied coolly, turning his head in disgust "I'm good."
The woman grunted, turning back to the kitchen. Kurt sighed out, tugging his bag on his lap. He pulled out his new cellphone, a gift from his father after he'd completed his time. His first one was smashed in initial rage at the train after being told he was being sent away. It only seemed fair. The first number he typed in was Rachel's. At least he hoped it was still hers.
Rachel Barbra Berry had been his best friend since they still had a considerable layer of baby fat and still recklessly stole alcohol from hotel rooms.
(Outside of Manhattan, this was known as thirteen years old.)
They knew just about everything there was to know about each other and knew just about every way to get it out. But they were a rare breed in New York. They were trademarked not only as the only true friends cultivated in the metropolitan culture, but also the only two friends who knew didn't send in blind items about one another. Which was why, Kurt was not only wary but also terrified that Rachel wouldn't recognize him as other than that.
He tucked his phone against his shoulder and jaw, swiping his mug daintily.
There was a cheerful sounding "Hello, this is Rachel Berry."
And for a second, Kurt considered hanging up. It was the lightest, most abstemious Rachel had ever sounded. He took a swig of his espresso, cringing only slightly at the absurd temperature and allowed himself to think it was a vodka tonic, let his mind pretend it was going to give him the courage he needed. This was Rachel Berry, for Christ's sake, five-foot-seven in a good pair of Manolos and only as threatening as an untethered puppy dog without her make-up.
But then again, this was Rachel Berry.
"Um, hellooo?" Rachel giggled, drawing out her vowels.
"It's Kurt." He blurts out.
Explicably, there's a silence that follows. A beat too long, actually. Kurt's French fries arrive after a while and he's actually proud of Rachel of keeping a dramatic suspense too long. He bites back a sarcastic "Brava," when she finally finds her words.
"Oh. Hello." She says and Kurt's half expecting to hear a dial tone.
"I'm guessing I owe you an apology." He mutters, swirling his fry into the small bowl of ketchup.
"Or five."
Kurt's eyebrows rise, with a menacing "Oh?"
"Did I really have to find out on Gossip Girl you were coming back?" she snaps bitterly "After you disappear to god knows where for three months?"
"You're upset because Gossip Girl finds something out before any of us did?" Kurt scoffs, but keeps his tone blank to avoid any further acrimony. Granted, a part of him is defensive. But the greater, reformed part of him is only seeking a ceasefire. That's the Kurt Hummel he wanted to be, the way Kurt Hummel should be. He settles for a quiet "I haven't even been on it since my flight touched down. Rachel, why do you think I called you?"
He can practically hear Rachel pursing her lips. "I—I don't know, to rub it in?"
"What would I rub in Rachel?" he questions "There is nothing to rub in except the fact that I lost five pounds and regained a good shred of my sobriety."
Rachel was silent on the other line. It wasn't the silence that usually brought anyone who fell into it to their knees, but one of unalloyed speechlessness.
"You…you finally lost those last five pounds?" she asks and Kurt laughs.
"Uh-huh."
They share a laugh and Kurt almost starts crying of relief if half of the diner hadn't been watching him for the past five minutes he'd been in there.
And everything seemed right as Kurt shoveled the fries that expectedly tasted like cheap cardboard into his mouth brazenly, catching up with his best friend in the whole world.
If one thing could go right, it was him and Rachel.
Spotted: A happy looking K and R reuniting at Central Park by the fountain. Hugs and giggles were not spared and neither were sly hands. Photos of the sightings just keep coming in, as it seems. Thanks guys. And bless K's heart, is that a hospital bracelet beneath all that unseasonable vintage Ralph Lauren he's wearing? It could be an accessory. Of course, it could also be a clue as to the entire mystery of K's departure and now, arrival. Come, Watson. We have a case in our hands.
The penthouse is exactly how it looked, almost untouched when Kurt hobbles in. He inhales the eternal new furniture, overlaid with French vanilla candles Rachel's fathers dotingly send her every second week of the month.
"I missed you." Kurt murmurs, kissing the hopefully clean kitchen island, before moving to press his lips on the giant, framed Meet Me in St. Louis movie poster in their living room. He runs to his bedroom and pecks his closet door and murmurs lowly "I missed you the most."
Rachel giggles at the sight of Kurt caressing the door, before she leans against the corridor and says "Why don't you go inside? There were some orders from Bendel's and Neiman Marcus that came some time ago and I figured you could have the honor of opening then yourself if ever you came back." She shrugged, before looking up at Kurt "I also considered donating them to some of my favorite charities but—"
"Hush you and your good-willed fanny." Kurt lightly smacked on her arm, causing her to laugh as he ran into his closet, burying his face into the coats that hung, huddled like a modish forest.
"I'm really glad that you—"
Rachel's interrupted by the sound of Kurt ripping through the delivery packages on the ground and tugging a pair of Alexander McQueen fingerless gloves against his face, feet kicking happily. Rachel shakes her head fondly before she gets on her knees, glancing over at him.
"Welcome home, Kurt." She says, rubbing his bicep.
"It's good to be home." He sighs out, rubbing the gloves against his face, moaning almost obscenely. Rachel grins back at him.
"You almost sound like your Old Se—"
"Don't mention him," Kurt hissed dangerously "He doesn't exist nor will he in any part of my life now."
Rachel quirks her lip and it's more disappointed than gratified.
"There's mail for you in the drawer where you used to keep your bondage shorts, by the way." Rachel tells him, ruffling his hair, earning her a noise of protest "Arranged chronologically by yours truly."
"A pleasure and an honor to be cohabiting with you, Miss Berry." He smiles graciously, pushing his fingers through his coif "Now go. I'm going to spend some unsettled alone time with my closet."
She laughs easily, uninhibited, before standing up and closing the closet doors, giving him a wink in goodbye.
He smiles and tugs open the drawer, plucking the sizeable stack of letters. A lot of them were from teachers at NYADA, some invitations to parties hosted by people who hadn't heard of his situation (he was genuinely surprised) and one, the last one in the pile, had 'Kurt Hummel ' embossed in gold ink in the back in careful calligraphy. On the flap, the Smythe emblem was printed and the paper was still crisp.
He opened it, tossing the envelope to the small pile of letters that had mildly interested him, as he read through the invitation.
You cordially invited as the guest-of-honor at a celebration in tribute of his much-awaited return hosted by Helen Smythe and family held at the Au Coeur du Luxe hotel ballroom in Upper Manhattan at July 1st, 8:00 in the evening. Attire is formal, with the options of champagne and burgundy. Your attendance is highly anticipated.
The Smythe family welcomes you home. We hope to see you soon.
Kurt stared at it in disbelief before crumpling the scented texture paper and throwing it against the door.
A tray-toting Rachel peered in, with a sympathetic smile on her face. "I'm guessing you got your invitation." She teased lightly.
"Guest-of-honor? Really?" he scoffs, grabbing the mug of cocoa from the tray "Rum?"
She shakes her head.
"Good." He sighs out before taking an annoyed sip from it. "How hollow is that?! Take the latest mess-in-the-head case and show him off like he's some goddamn estate in the Riviera. I don't understand how they knew I was coming back in the first place. Nobody knew I was coming back home."
She stifles a laugh, as she takes a sip from her own mug.
"What's got you so amused?" he asks exasperatedly, downing heavy gulps of it.
"You really need to get why they organized a party in the first place." Rachel let out a snort, pulling out her own phone, scrolling through the Gossip Girl web page. He waved it away.
"You sure?" she asks, a lopsided smile on her face.
"I'm trying to watch my dignity. I didn't have a whole lot of it left last time on the radar." He raised an eyebrow, tapping over his chest "And that reason would be?"
"Sebastian." Rachel crows lasciviously into his ear, laughing when he pushed her off.
"Do not say his name in the sanctity of my presence." Kurt says, making gagging noises as he shook his head "I believe he still refuses to acknowledge I broke up with him?"
"Unfortunately, he's as in denial as he is pretty." She exhales, before her tone shifted an octave "But you do make the most precious little love story."
"Oh, no."
"Oh yes."
Kurt could barely tackle her when she started.
"T'was a humble kingdom back in the day," Rachel began dramatically as she curled herself against the stack of silk scarves, wrapping one around her head "Of Helen and Francis Smythe. They bore a child named Sebastian, on August 25th. They had but a few rental homes and maybe a sizeable corporate building and a resort in the making—"
"Rachel, this is completely unnecessary." Kurt deadpanned "Sebastian is the last thing I need to think about now."
"But then!" Rachel grinned "He was a St. Jude's boy, he was a St. Jude's boy and eyes met and the world seemed to change forever."
"Here we go." Kurt mumbles to himself as he busied himself by opening the last of the packages.
"Mysteriously, the empire grew! Resorts became a chain of them, hotels scattered not only in the greater cities, but in Europe as well!" she flopped dramatically on Kurt's lap "And one Mr. Hummel fell absolutely in love with a Sebastian Smythe and it seemed that the son of Hummel Auto Enterprises and the love child of the Smythe Properties came to rule the Upper East Side."
"I'm glad you made a point that I fell in love with his trust fund." Kurt glared at her. "Is that your speech for when they welcome me back, sans Pashmina?"
"Nope." She says, popping the p childishly "It's the speech to when you get engaged tonight."
Kurt laughs, smacking her. "Oh, please. We both know Sebastian's a little desperate Animal Planet special who follows his mother around like a good little circus trained monkey but he's definitely not that destitute."
Rachel's lips slip out of the mirth they once held and turn into something a little more familiar, a tad malevolent if you took in the gleam in her eye.
"You really need to indulge sometimes." she sighs as she pushes the phone towards him "Besides, we lost our self-respect ages ago."
Dear GG,
Did you catch Double S waiting at JFK? Mystery brunet, pictured below. And it's not K.
[CAM_ ]
-menaceo4
Dear menace04
Good eye, good eye! Sadly, this girl's got nothing on him yet. Soon, I hope. The rumor mill doesn't run dry for too long. He's significant, believe me, Sebastian doesn't waste his breath for just anybody, let's be honest, people.
-GG
"Anderson," Sebastian sighs out as he falls backwards onto the pillow, an arm tucked behind his head "You are as remarkable as I remember."
"I'm glad you think so." Blaine says almost tersely as he leans back on the desk chair, clad in only a fluffy navy robe Sebastian lent him, nursing a beer "But what I don't exactly get why you insisted Father to send me over here all the way from Boston to be your bed warmer."
Sebastian chuckled lightly, giving Blaine the look he was so famous for, eyes twinkling in amusement and lips quirked in a smirk. "Didn't you hear? I'm getting engaged tonight." He said as he poured himself a drink from where his bottle of scotch stood on the nightstand and snatched the glass from the table, taking slow, deliberate sips "This was an act of celebration. Party for two. Dinner and a jet to Paris without the dinner and the jet to Paris."
"I get it." Blaine rolls his eyes "Pre-engagement fuck. It's not like it's the first ti—"
"He's the prettiest little thing this side of Manhattan." Sebastian murmurs before gesturing Blaine to come over.
"You never told me you had a boyfriend." Blaine turns away from him when he's drawn to straddle Sebastian's sheet-covered lap.
"You really are a Harvard boy." Sebastian says as he lets the last of his drink run down his throat and his hands snake up Blaine's thighs "Intelligent. But naïve."
Blaine holds back the initial shiver that courses through him whenever Sebastian touches him and keeps his eyes steely when they bore into Sebastian's amused green ones.
"One day," Sebastian says as he tugs on the belt of the robe, undoing the knot and pushing the lapels "you're going to find out how exactly Manhattan works."
"Operates on money and scandal?" Blaine raises an eyebrow when Sebastian pushes the robe off his shoulders.
Sebastian's tongue catches a drop of scotch on his bottom lip and looks up at Blaine with a delighted expression, like a parent whose child just declared some ridiculous notion.
"So close, B." Sebastian purrs mischievously as he looks up at Blaine through his eyelashes "Sadly, the waters run much deeper than that."
Blaine's rolled under Sebastian by the time a retort slips in his mind, mouth overlapped by the boy's own.