Uninvited
Kurt pushed his stacks of papers and sketches to the edge of the desk and rested his chin on his hands, staring contentedly out of the seventeenth-floor window of his New York City apartment at the neon lights, billboards, and rain slick street below. Finally, after years of singing and struggling and searching, his world had come together all at once and formed this - this life as a fashion designer with an overly extravagant apartment and with a brand that someday, he was sure, everybody would know. The job offers and then the signed contracts had come so suddenly and so fast on the heels of failure at a Boradway career that Kurt had hardly had time to blink and look at how his carefully constructed plans had careened off into this unexpected success at something he'd never really considered.
His life was full. Kurt had become an independent man with dreams and hopes and futures and a career that he loved. In what seemed like an instant, he had everything he'd ever wanted.
Of course, there were still the echoes of forsaken Broadway dreams, but, strangely enough, Kurt no longer needed that. It would have been nice, of course, to sing and act on a stage in front of hundreds as Rachel and Blaine - Kurt's mind quickly skirted around the name - had done, but that craving for recognition and expression had answered another to another muse, and now Kurt swelled with pride every time the artists who'd been able to make it the way he hadn't paraded down the red carpet in clothes he'd designed.
There was abruptly a brisk knock on the door, jostling Kurt from his musings, and he got up, a ghost of a smile still playing across his lips as he made his way to the door. The door swung open and, just as quickly as it had formed, Kurt's carefully constructed universe shattered into fragments around his feet as he saw long-lashed hazel eyes and frowsy curls of hair, and a voice that he would have known for forever asked hollowly, "Can I come in?"
Kurt stepped away, dumbfounded, from the doorway and let Blaine enter. Blaine walked into the apartment without waiting for invitation, and sank into the leather couch, letting himself fall gracelessly facedown onto the fine cushions and remaining motionless.
"Are you alright?" Kurt asked primly, feeling like a stranger in his own home as he stared at the man in his living room.
Blaine turned over and stared up at the ceiling, his face carved of granite and his eyes dead and expressionless. His mouth quirked in a strange way at the question, and Kurt was sure that Blaine was about to blurt out something angrily in frustration as he'd have done in high school, but instead he gave a short, hard laugh that made Kurt feel foolish and that definitely did not belong coming from Blaine's throat and through those full lips.
"What?" Kurt asked.
"I don't know," Blaine said, sobering suddenly. "It's not really funny. Do I look alright to you?"
"No."
"Then why'd you ask?"
Blaine's cold manner sparked something in Kurt, and he snapped irritably, "Because you show up where I live six years after we broke up and come in like you have a claim here!"
Blaine's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly and he nodded. "Right. This was a mistake. I'll -"
His motion to get up was arrested by Kurt's quick step forward and the hand laid on his upper arm, holding him in place without any force. Blaine flinched and drew in a sharp breath, as if the touch had burned him. Kurt held still, as if with a wild animal, until he felt Blaine unfreeze underneath his hand, and told him quietly, "Stay." The word was mild and spoken barely above a whisper, but it was enough.
Kurt moved away and disappeared into the bedroom, reemerging a few moments later with a thick knit blanket and a pillow. He placed the pillow on one end of the couch and Blaine lay down, stiffly at first and then a bit more comfortably as soon as Kurt laid the blanket over him.
"What happened to you?"
"What do you think happened?" Blaine answered flatly, and Kurt realized with some irritation that he'd never answered questions with questions when they had known each other. Blaine seemed to note the annoyance on Kurt's face and sighed. "Life happened."
"That's cliché," Kurt said, and was surprised to find that his tone was accusatory. "Give me a real answer."
"If I knew how I got so messed up I'd have done something about it before now."
"We'll talk in the morning?" Kurt said, the sentence a question even though it had been meant as a stern demand.
Blaine nodded his consent and Kurt had almost turned away when he halted and said over his shoulder without quite looking at Blaine, "You will still be here in the morning, right?"
The unyielding laugh was back, and then Blaine asked caustically, "Do you really think I'd be here in the first place if I had somewhere else to go?
"Okay," Kurt answered slowly, nodding as Blaine lowered his head onto the pillow again and closed his eyes, effectively ending the conversation.
As Kurt disappeared into his own bedroom and pulled on his pajamas, he cocked his head to listen to Blaine's quiet breathing and wondered what insensible chain of events had culminated in bringing him back to this, with a wrecked man that he'd tried so hard to forget asleep in the room next door.
A/N: My first Glee fic that isn't going to be a one-shot. I know there isn't much dialogue or events in this chapter, but this is more like a prologue to the rest of the story. There will be lots of confrontations, flashbacks, and drama to come. Review, please! :)