Title: Stacked
Summary: Kurt is the founder of Cliché Magazine and living the good life in his upscale New York apartment. Blaine has made it big as a music producer and now owns Blackbird Records. Can these two high profile celebs rekindle their romance? Or will it be too late? Klaine!Future fic.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and a few places/characters.
From the beginning, Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson knew that the odds were stacked against them; they were from Lima fucking Ohio after all. Kurt was the only 'out' gay kid at William McKinley High School, even after he transferred back, and had been elected Prom Queen in some twisted joke. So yes, they were very aware of the fact that the masses weren't working in their favor, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt any less when they ended their relationship. After two years of being, openly, together in the small Ohio town, the homophobic tendencies of their neighbors proved to be too much. It was classic, you know, they swore to remain friends and stay close; but their daily conversations soon faded away into barely even a 'hey' if they passed each other in store. Of course, Blaine had finished up school at Dalton, which had made the distancing easier on both of them. Kurt had almost called Blaine when he signed the lease on his New York apartment right after high school graduation, and Blaine had hurried from his Dalton dorm to Lima when he received his NYU acceptance letter, only to wind up at the Lima Bean alone. Yes, Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson knew that the odds were stacked against them, but they didn't realize just how cruel fate could be.
"Good morning, Mr. Hummel," the doorman, Charlie, greeted as Kurt swooped into the apartment building's lobby. The fair skinned man nodded in response and shrugged in Louis Vuitton bag up on his shoulder while trying desperately to not drop the papers in his hands. Rain pelted the ground outside and Kurt paused under the awning, waving frantically at his driver; after five years of living in the same building, his chauffer still could remember where to pick him up at.
"Ah there you are," the other man grumbled, hurrying over to his employer, "let me get those for you."
"Thank you, Alan," Kurt breathed as he shoved the papers into his employees waiting hands, "try and keep them dry." Alan nodded and tucked them into his coat before leading Kurt over to the car and opening the back door. Kurt sighed with contentment as he slid into the backseat of the town car, heat blasting from the vents and breakfast waiting for him on the console. His first meeting wasn't until two o'clock that afternoon which meant that he got to spend the next few hours reviewing the articles that his journalists had written up for next month's issue; before heading over to the boutique to check on the staff. A yellow taxi swerved in front of the town car and Kurt cursed under his breath as Alan slammed on the breaks and hit the horn simultaneously. Kurt chalked the horrible morning traffic up to the rain, which had intensified once his got into the car, so he settled back and began nursing his Medium Drip. The hot liquid burnt slightly as it slid down his throat, but the taste comforted him enough that he didn't notice. After a few more near accidents and plenty of ran red lights, Kurt made a mental note to look for a new driver, they pulled up in front of the Cliché headquarters.
"I will be meeting Ms. Berry for lunch this afternoon," he informed Alan as he gathered up his papers and slid them into his bag.
"11:30?" Alan inquired as he jotted something down in his schedule book. Kurt nodded and opened his door, throwing the usual 'don't wreck my car!' out before making his way into the building.
"Good morning, Mr. Hummel!" Lynette, the receptionist, called when he entered the building. He strode across the room and rested his elbows on the counter, smiling warmly at her.
"Good morning, Lynette." He replied, "How is Gabriel feeling?" Kathy glanced up from her computer screen and smiled weakly.
"It's been one of his good weeks," she murmured, "I suppose. They all kind of run together anymore, the good and the bad." Kurt shook his head and reached over to grasp her hand. He wasn't one to get too close to his employees, but Lynette held a particular place in his heart. He had met her when he interned at Vogue during his junior year in college, she too had been making her way through school. After he graduated, she was the first person he called when he came up with the concept for Cliché and offered her a position. He had mulled over the idea of promoting her to VP many times, but she always insisted that she was happy working the front desk.
"Just remember, I'm here if you need anything." He whispered, kissing her hand, "And I have everything ready for this weekend, what time should I pick her up?" Lynette looked over her calendar quickly and cringed.
"Gabriel has appointments all day Friday and the doctor said that she wanted me there," she replied, wrinkling her nose, "but I can tell the sitter that you'll be by whenever you wrap up here." Kurt smiled and nodded before pressing a kiss to her hand.
"I'll try not to be too late," he murmured, "I better get up there… Shay can't hold down the fort for long before all hell breaks loose." Kurt heard a shaky laugh escape Lynette's lips as he pivoted on his heel and made his way over to the elevators. He pressed the button and the doors sprung open almost immediately, revealing his very flustered assistant.
"There you are!" she breathed, "You have five very nervous potential journalists waiting outside your office." Kurt cursed and punched the 'up' button in the elevator. Somehow he had managed to forget that he had, what seemed like, a billion and a half applicants to interview before lunch. Sure enough, when the doors opened again, there were several unfamiliar faces awaiting his arrival.
"Good morning, everyone." He chirped, sauntering over to his office, hand poised on the doorknob, "Shay, please send the first applicant in." His assistant sighed and flopped down in her chair, riffling through a stack of forms. In his office, he tossed his bag into the loveseat not far from his desk and placed a hand on his window, breathing deeply. He loathed interviews, with a passion, it wasn't that he didn't enjoy the prospect of new talent gracing his workplace, but he couldn't stand getting lied to all the time. Just because you served Alexander McQueen a cup of coffee doesn't mean you worked for him, and yes, he really had several people do that to him. Shay poked her head in a few moments later, a fidgety 20 something year old behind her.
"Mr. Hummel, this is Paris Joshing." She announced as she ushered the girl into the room, "your first interview." Kurt smiled kindly at the girl and accepted her resume from his assistant. Paris dusted off her skirt and stood awkwardly in the doorway, swallowing a lump in her throat.
"Please, have a seat." He said, his eyes scanning the rather impressive paper in his hands, "I see that you've just recently graduated from UCLA." Paris nodded frantically and fingered the hem of her blouse.
"Yes, sir," she mumbled, "I majored in fashion design with a minor in business." Kurt hummed in approval and raised an eyebrow at her.
"You interned at Vogue?" he inquired, placing the paper on the desk and resting his hands on the desk, leaning toward her ever so slightly. Paris nodded again, diverting her eyes to focus on the potted plant in the corner of the room.
"Yes, sir," she repeated. Kurt's shoulder slumped, not enough for her to notice though, and he leaned back in his leather chair, pressing a hand to his temple.
"Tell me about that," he prompted, "I simply adored it there when I interned." Paris fidgeted again and bit her lip. A nagging in the pit of Kurt's stomach told him that she was lying through her teeth, after all it wasn't a secret that he'd gotten his start at the New York office.
"It was very… stimulating." She replied with a forced smile, "I enjoyed it very much." Kurt nodded and glanced over the piece of paper one more time.
"Well, I will be checking your references and I will get back to you," he told her, forcing a smile of his own as he walked her to the door. Paris shook his hand warily and thanked him for his time before disappearing into the crowded office building. Shay glanced over at him with a hopeful expression and Kurt barely shook his head before motioning for her to retrieve the next candidate. The five journalists had somehow multiplied into thirty and Kurt was extremely tired by the time his lunch date rolled around; despite that fact that he had only made his way through a third of the applicants.
"I'm off to lunch, Shay," he announced as he slipped on his jacket, "hold my calls. I should be back in an hour."
"What about the other applicants?" she asked, her voice frantic, "You can't expect me to watch all twenty of them while you're gone." Kurt laughed and shook his head at the girl before him, taking both of her hands in his.
"Tell them that I have been called out for an emergency meeting," he instructed, "And I have a meeting with Emma Watson at two. I will be back by four and I will see the rest of them then, encourage them to grab some lunch or get a coffee of something." Shay slumped against the wall and let out a tired sigh.
"Lunch… coffee… for three hours?" she mumbled, "Alright." Kurt smiled at her and hurried out his office and toward the elevators once again. The lobby was bustling with busy employees, each of them on a mission.
"Mr. Hummel!" one of his writers yelled, jogging to meet up with him at the front door, "I finished that article you wanted on Coach's new line."
"Send it up to Shay and tell her to put it on my desk," he said, "I will take it home and look over it tonight." With that, he exited the building and was met by a surprisingly small amount of chaos. Alan was waiting for him on the side walk, the door already open and the sounds of show tunes wafting from the speakers. Kurt slid in and pulled the door shut behind him, sighing with relief.
"Where to?" Alan inquired from the front seat, his hand hesitating over the gear shift. Kurt pulled out his phone and eyed the email that he had received from his friend.
"Per Se." he instructed after a moment. Alan nodded in confirmation and pulled out of the parking spot he was in and onto the busy street. Kurt punched a button on his phone and lifted it to his ear.
"This is Rachel Berry's office, how may I help you?" Francine, Rachel's secretary, answered on the other line.
"Hey Francine, its Kurt." He responded, "Is Rachel still in her office?" There was a shuffling noise on the other end and he heard a door open and shut quickly.
"No sir, Mr. Hummel," Francine murmured, "I believe she said that you two had reservations, is something the matter?" Kurt shook his head, even though Francine couldn't see him and smiled.
"Everything is fine," he assured her, "thank you." He hung up the call and pulled up Rachel's cell phone number instead, texting her a quick message before sliding it back into his pocket and leaning his head against the window.
"Rough day?" Alan asked, stomping on the gas to beat the light before it changed to red. Kurt glared at his chauffer before answering.
"I have been interviewing applicants for that past couple of hours," he grumbled. Alan let out a loud, obnoxious laugh and glanced at his employer through the rearview mirror. A corvette slammed on their breaks and swerved into the other lane to avoid colliding with the town car.
"Another Alexander McQueen incident?" he prompted.
"Something like that," Kurt confirmed as he let out an exasperated moan, "Eyes on the road Alan!" His driver switched lanes and pulled up in front of the restaurant, nearly taking out a fire hydrant and a few pedestrians along the way. Kurt underlined, very boldly, the mental note that he had made early about finding another driver and briskly entered the restaurant.
"Ah, Mr. Hummel, right this way," the waitress greeted as he stepped inside the building, "Ms. Berry has been expecting you." Kurt nodded and followed the girl to the other side of the restaurant and over to the small table that Rachel had claimed the last time they had dined there.
"Kurt!" the brunette squealed when her approached her, wrapping his arms around her torso, "I've missed you!"
"It's only been a month, Rachel." Kurt mused, taking the seat across from her and looking down at his menu. Rachel laughed and started rambling on about how much difference a month made.
"Oh! How is Evanna?" she inquired after a long pause. Kurt grinned at the mention of the little girl and pulled out his wallet, handing his companion a picture of her.
"She is fabulous," he gushed, "she is coming over this weekend, I haven't had her to myself for such a long time!"
"Aw, I can't wait to see her… you are bringing her to opening night, right?" she demanded, giddy with excitement. Kurt laughed at her childlike manner and nodded, handing his menu over to the waitress and tell her his order.
"Good," Rachel breathed, "she is beautiful." Her eyes were scanning the picture, a small smile on her lips, "She has your eyes." Back in high school, if you would have told Kurt that he would be running one of the top selling magazines in the US right after college, he would have laughed at you; if you would have told him that he would get drunk while on vacation, with his best friend from his Vogue internship, in Las Vegas and wind up a father nine months later… he would have committed you. But there he was, sitting at a table in a high class restaurant in New York with Rachel Berry, showing her a photo of his two year old baby girl. Kurt chuckled and shook his head, smiling at the photo.
"What's so funny?" Rachel asked, lifting her glass of wine to her lips.
"I was just thinking about when I told you that Lynette was pregnant," he answered, "You asked if someone date raped me." Rachel blushed and diverted her eyes, "Not that I blame you of course, I wondered that myself for a while… I think the thought crossed Lynette's mind too."
"What does Scott think of her?" Rachel inquired as she handed the photo back to him, "Better yet what doesn't she think of Scott?"
"He is good to her," Kurt responded carefully, "he doesn't quite understand the situation though, not that I expect him to. I mean, it's not every day an openly gay man get a girl pregnant, but he doesn't press the matter too much." Rachel bit her tongue and simply nodded in response, "Evanna, she doesn't like him much at the moment, but she has only met him once. I suppose that she will warm up to him eventually, he is an acquired taste." A sense of relief flooded over the pair when the food arrived, giving them no reason to continue their current conversation.
"Good evening, Mr. Anderson," Charlie greeted, from his place by the entrance of the apartment building. Blaine glanced up at him and smiled, tucking his newspaper beneath his arm as he did so.
"Good evening, Charlie," he returned. Blaine was flanked by Wes and David, who were arguing childishly about something as they made their way to the elevator. The doors dinged open and Blaine ushered his friends into the tiny compartment, setting aside their large, expensive looking suitcases.
"Mr. Anderson," David mocked, nudging Blaine in the ribs with his elbow, "really?" Wes snorted and shook his head, pulling out his phone to check for any new messages.
"Shut up," Blaine grumbled, the tips of his ears turning pink. The elevator came to a halt and the three men stepped out, Wes and David following Blaine's lead. The hallway of the apartment complex reminded them of a lavish hotel with the generic wall paper and dizzying design on the carpet. They stopped in front of Blaine's door, apartment 301.
"It's not much," Blaine murmured as he kicked open the door, "but its home."
"Not much," Wes mused with raised eyebrows, "it has a fucking entryway!" David stood behind his friend for a second, mouth gaping and eyes wide. Blaine laughed and took their luggage into the other room, dropping it by the large, black leather couch.
"You'll get used to it," he called back, "it's really not that big of a deal." His companions burst into the room, incredulous looks on their faces. David opened his mouth to say something, but was quickly quieted by a very excited looking Wes, who was flailing and mumbling incoherent sentences as he gestured to the balcony.
"Hot tub!" he finally managed, jumping up and down, "Holy shit! You have a hot tub!" Blaine chuckled, opening the sliding glass door and stepping out onto the balcony where the hot tub in question had been installed.
"Very good Wes," he teased, "I'm so proud of you." Wes punched the other man in the arm, glaring playfully.
"You realize that we are never going to leave now, right?" David asked from his place by the couch, "Like, seriously."
"You are welcome to stay as long as you like," Blaine murmured, staring out at the cityscape, "You know that."
"Aw," Wes cooed, "how touching… now about the hot tub." Blaine popped open a compartment on the side of the tub and pulled out two pairs of swimming trunks, chucking them at his guests. Blaine's very loud, very obnoxious ringtone began blaring from his pocket and he rushed to answer it.
"Hello?" he asked, he flicked his wrist at his guests and motioned for them to go on with what they had been doing, as he stepped back inside.
"Hey Mr. Anderson, sorry to bother you on your day off," Becky Jackson's replied on the other end of the phone, "but Miley is having a fit over something in the studio and she is requesting your presence."
"Um… yeah, I will there soon. Don't worry about it, Becky, it's fine." He reassured the panicked girl, "I will see you in a few minutes." Blaine groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, grabbing a dinner jacket out of the hall closet.
"Behave yourselves," he called to his friends, "Cyrus is having throwing a tantrum again and I have to go into work."
"Go get 'em Mr. Big Shot Music Producer," David yelled back, "We promise not to break anything!" Blaine cursed under his breath at the thought of leaving them alone, but grabbed his keys and wallet anyway and headed out the door. The sun was just beginning to fade over the skyline and the lobby was nearly empty, seeing as almost everyone was already inside for the night or getting ready to head out.
"Emma Watson is a doll!" a high pitched voice gushed from across the lobby, "She is so sweet, and she promised to come to the benefit this year." Blaine paused for a second tilting his head slightly as he took in the familiar sound, just as his mind began to place it, his phone went off again.
"What's up, Becky?" he inquired, finally making his way out to the street, hailing the first taxi he saw.
"Bad news," she announced, "She found out that Selena is in the other studio. She is refusing to work under the same label as her."
"Tell Ms. Cyrus, that I will be there as quickly as I can and then we will sort this whole thing out, please." He instructed, trying desperately to keep his voice level. The girl on the other line paused for a moment to write down his directions, he assumed.
"Roger that, boss." She quipped and hung up the phone. Becky Jackson was the last person that he had expected to run into in New York, he had just opened his record label and was hiring an assistant when she showed up. Now, two years later, she was still the best employee that he could ask for. She still talked about Sue now and again, even though the woman had passed a few years ago from a heart attack, but she attempted to remain as upbeat as possible. Blaine snapped out of his daze when his cab, that he didn't even remember getting into, pulled up outside Blackbird Records. The streetlights had just flickered on, lighting the path up to the large, bulletproof glass doors. Becky was waiting for his at the elevator, wringing her hands worriedly.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled, "Evan and I tried to handle it, but she flew off the handle." Blaine placed and hand on Becky's shoulder and bent down to her level.
"It's not your fault," he explained, "she is just having another temper tantrum, it'll be fine. You guys did what you could." And with that, he stepped into the elevator and made his way up to meet the angry pop star. One very, impressively, calm conversation (on Blaine's end) and a handful of half ass promises later, Blaine stepped out of the recording studio with Miley still on his clientele list.
"How'd you do it, boss?" Becky asked, catching up with him as he hurried toward the exit. Blaine laughed, almost bitterly, and shook his head.
"You'd be surprised how well 'Nick Jonas is so not worth it and Selena is married to Justin anyway' works." He joked, sighing heavily, "You'd think that she would get over it after a while." Becky clicked her tongue and jotted something down in her notebook before grabbing her coat and tossing the keys to Evan.
"Lock up tonight," she said, "I'm beat." Blaine held the door open for her and hailed a taxi, whistling rather loudly to do so.
"Good night, Becky." He said, pulling her into a hug, "Take tomorrow off, I will see you Monday."
"Roger that," she replied with a smile as she slid into the cab that he had gotten for her, "you want to share?"
"No, you go on home." He whispered, "I'm sure Harold is waiting up for you." Becky nodded a fiddled with the wedding band on her finger.
"Good night, boss." She murmured, waving to him as he shut the door. Blaine shoved his hands in his pockets as he strolled along the sidewalk, taking in the city before him. He'd lived in the city for five years and he still wasn't used to its beauty… it was mind blowing at night. He wandered around aimlessly for a while before stumbling across a tiny, family ran grocery store, and that's when it hit him… David and Wes were alone in his apartment… with his food.
"Lucy, I'm home!" Scott Bagley called with a laugh as he kicked the front door to his and Kurt's apartment shut. Kurt poked his head around the corner, dishtowel in hand.
"Just because you're a quarter Cuban doesn't mean I have to be Lucy," he retorted with a small smile, "how was work?" Scott grimaced and shrugged off his jacket, tossing it over the back of the car. Normally, he would have been scolded for that, but seeing as Kurt had disappeared back into their very elaborate kitchen, there was no one to yell at him.
"Boring day at the office," he muttered, making his way over to his boyfriend. Kurt threw back his head and laughed, wrapping his arms around Scott's neck.
"I'm sure," he mused, "working with all those damn writers is hard." Scott rolled his eyes and pressed a kiss to Kurt's lips before leaning over to see what was cooking on the stove. Kurt swatted the other man away and muttered something about ruining the surprise.
"I just wish that these people would get their heads together," Scott grumbled, "I mean… how many times can you write in a sibling romance before viewers get tired of it?" Kurt shuddered, tossing the dishtowel over his shoulder, and stirred the boiling stew.
"Who came up with that twist anyway? I get that it's a Soap Opera and all, but they seriously need to be committed." He commented, wrinkling up his face in disgust. Scott laughed and strode across the kitchen to the refrigerator, pulling out a can of beer.
"Jeremiah thought that it would catch everyone off guard," He answered, "and it did the first time. It wasn't even all that creepy at first, Alice and Hank were going to get married, they got their blood tests for the marriage license, and what do you know, their half-siblings. Now he wants to go into this whole thing were the twins get it on… he just need fired, I swear." Kurt opened the cupboard and removed a couple of bowls before turning back to his boyfriend.
"I repeat, needs to be committed." He joked, shaking his head. Scott took a long sip of his beer and accepted one of the bowls of stew, kissing Kurt's cheek lightly as a sign of gratitude, "Anyway, I stopped by the store today and picked up some movies." Scott glanced over at the stack of Disney DVDs and sighed shaking his head.
"Disney, Kurt, really?" he questioned, taking another drink of beer. Kurt simply shrugged one shoulder and grabbed the movies, fanning them out on the coffee table. Scott picked up the remote and flicked on the television, grinning when the football game appeared on the scene. Kurt let out a groan and waved his brand new copy of Beauty and the Beast in his boyfriend's face.
"After the game, I promise." Scott mumbled, leaning forward and staring intently at the flying football. Kurt dropped the DVD on the couch in between them, picking up his bowl of stew in the process. The game seemed to drone on forever, one team would make a touchdown and then the other would follow suit, leading the game into overtime. At 11 o'clock, Kurt decided that he wasn't going to get to watch his movie and kissed his boyfriends goodnight before ducking into the bedroom.
Blaine stumbled into his apartment around midnight, his vision blurred with exhaustion. After seeing Becky off and picking up a few groceries, he had gotten yet another call from the studio. It appeared that in Miley's original fit of rage, she manage to break an essential piece of machinery and she had to finish the album tonight. Of course, the situation had already gotten out of hand again before Selena wrapped up her session and offered her studio to Miley, but luckily everything ended well. The next thing he knew, he was waking up in his bed, wrapped up in the expensive sheets, and completely unsure as to how he got there.
"Breakfast!" Wes yelled, clanging a spatula on the side of one of Blaine's pan. The curly haired man groaned and covered his face with a pillow. His bedroom door creaked open and he felt the bed droop on either side of him.
"Aw, look at him," David whispered, poking Blaine in the side, "isn't our hobbit just adorable, Wes?" Both of the intruders rolled slightly to avoid Blaine's fists as they swung out in either direction, laughing as they didn't so.
"Don't be so grumpy," Wes prodded, "is Blaine-y still tired from his little fight with the washed up pop star?" David snickered and reached across Blaine to high-five his best friend. Blaine growled and muttered something, though his voice was still muffled by the pillow. The boys on either side of him sighed and removed the object, requesting that he repeat whatever he just said.
"I said 'get the fuck out of my room before I uninstall the hot tub'!" he growled, glaring over at them.
"Someone's feisty this morning," David teased, wincing when Wes reached over and slapped him, "What was that for?"
"Dude, you don't mess with the hot tub. You just don't." Wes explained, climbing off of the bed and heading toward the doorway, David following eagerly behind. The two boys hurried into the kitchen, scooping some scrambled eggs and bacon onto their plates before padding over to the television and turning it on. An E! News reporter flashed onto the screen, surrounded by a large crowd of paparazzi.
"It is rumored that Emma Watson just signed another movie contract with Daniel Radcliff and Tom Felton, is this a continuation of the beloved Harry Potter series?" The reporter asked her colleague, tipping the microphone so that they could answer.
"Whatever the film is, it is being kept under wraps for the time being. But maybe Megan Cho will be able to tell us more." He replied, his voice overly peppy. David rolled his eyes and reached for the remote, his hand stilling as the camera flashed over to another scene.
"I am Megan Cho from E! Weekly," the journalist announced, "and this is Kurt Hummel, the man behind Cliché Magazine."
"Dude, Blaine! Wake up, you have to see this!" Wes screamed, fumbling to pause the live stream, "Get your ass out her now." Blaine groggily made his way into the living room and heaved a sigh, scratching his stomach.
"What is it?" he murmured, stifling a yawn. David his play on the remote and the scene burst to life again.
"So, Mr. Hummel, is true that you interview Ms. Watson yesterday for an article that will be featured in your magazine?" Megan asked, shoving the microphone in Kurt's face. Blaine's eyes widened and his jaw dropped open.
"Yes, I can confirm that," Kurt responded with a laugh, "she is an absolute doll!" Wes squinted, staring intently at the building behind the pair.
"Holy shit," he gasped, hurrying over to the balcony, "Blaine… you have to see this." Blaine didn't move, he didn't even glance in his friend's direction, until David chucked a shirt at him and pushed him into the hallway.
"What the hell?" Blaine demanded, fighting against his guests as they dragged him into the elevator and frantically pressed the button for the first floor. The lobby was unusually crowded that morning, Blaine noticed as he was ushered to the front doors. He heart thudded in his ear and he swallowed a lump that was forming in his throat when he noticed the tall, pale skinned man and the tiny, oriental reporter in front of him.
"Oh my god," Kurt whispered, his arms falling slack at his sides as the curly haired man appeared in his view, "Blaine?"