Well, hello Glee fandom.
I had the soundtrack to Wicked stuck in my head all day and this popped into my head.
Disclaimer; I own absolutely nothing. As far as I know. You know. /end ramble.
"Sir, the press is waiting for a statement."
"Of course. I'll be right out."
One last look in the mirror to make sure his hair was in place, a tug to straighten his suit, and out the doors to face the ravening hoard outside.
The instant they spot him, they descend as locusts on a field of crops. Hungry for answers and gossip. The flashbulbs start to go off and he forces himself not to wince as the lights blind him.
"Sir! What do you plan to do now that…"
"What are your plans regarding…."
"Is there anything that you would like to say on the subject of…"
He holds up a hand and the crowd falls quiet. He had always been able to keep a crowd eating out of the palm of his hand. A well-practiced half-smile slides into place as he prepares his answers.
It has only been three hours since the paper had been opened over breakfast that had gone uneaten.
FAMOUS BROADWAY STAR FOUND DEAD the headline proclaimed. A black and white photo of a tearful Rachel Berry and shell-shocked Finn Hudson was underneath. An emotional co-star and her fiancée are caught leaving the scene as…
"I will answer your questions one at a time, please."
He gestures to one of the reporters and a microphone is shoved near his face.
"Sir, is it true that the two of you were close friends?"
The question catches him off-guard. The rumor mills had been buzzing for years about the two of them, but no one had flat out asked before.
"I…well," His carefully memorized note cards are doing him no good. He clears his throat. "I suppose it depends on what you mean by 'friend'…"
They had never really defined what their relationship had been.
"I did know him before…that is," His publicist is glaring at him from the side. "Our paths did cross, at school….but that was a very long time ago, and a lot has happened since then."
He shakes himself, trying to push away a flood of memories that he doesn't need right now. Not ever again.
But the memory of a dead canary and a heart-broken song lingers in his head for the rest of the questioning.
The rest of the press conference goes smoothly and he is finally able to retreat into the relative sanctuary of his house. He curls up on the sofa with a mocha and watches When Harry Met Sally on repeat for the rest of the day.
He always shuts it off when Harry starts to run through the city to the New Years Eve party.
Then he starts it again, from the begining.
For less than a week, the shocking death of up-and-coming Broadway star Kurt Hummel consumes New York. Then the city moves on to bigger and better things. Bigger stars, juicier gossip.
Only a small group truly stops and truly mourns. They nod to each other, acknowledging their presence at the funeral. They don't speak or sing. They use lilies instead of roses, and their sweet scent is almost too strong.
The small group parts again, the smell of white flowers lingering on their cloths and in their noses.
And they eventually move on.
A/N; Welp. That's that. Please let me know what you thought!
Ciao,
~commontater