A/N: I wrote this (and a couple of other chapters in this story) about two years ago and just found it all on my hard drive. Even though Glee's finished, I hope people still read about this incredible couple.
Review and let me know if you want me to post more.
X
It's cold out when Blaine settles on a park bench, notebook in hand, one leg crossed over the other more out of habit than anything else. Leaves chase each other around his feet until the wind sweeps them up in one big gust and they sink to the ground haphazardly. It's unseasonably cold for Fall and Blaine takes a moment to thank his mother for her many years of nagging him to always carry a coat. A skeleton of a smile reaches his lips and he supposes it's nice he has something to thank that woman for.
Twirling the pen between his fingers absentmindedly, Blaine takes in the hustle and bustle of a Sunday afternoon in Central Park. There are couples everywhere, hands and hearts intertwined as they share a leisurely stroll. Others are walking alone or getting pulled along by dogs much more eager than their owners. His eyes scour the area, waiting for inspiration to strike, until they eventually fall on a vacant park bench opposite where he's sitting.
His eyes remain there for moments, minutes, tracing the edges of wood as he ponders the stories of those who have sat there over time. He imagines the many conversations that have taken place, the arguments, the confessions, the lies told and the love shared. He'd like to think life is more than just a contradiction but he knows better.
An old couple, both graying with withered smiles that somehow still illuminate their faces soon approach the bench and sit close together, aged hands linked. They don't talk; they don't need to. Instead they sit in silence and just be.
Blaine sighs; he wants that. He wants the comfort of another body next to his, the familiarity of that one person who knows you better than yourself, the promise of someone to grow old with. Maybe one day, he hopes.
The familiar rush of creativity begins to flow through his veins as he opens his worn notebook, turns to a new page and writes. He writes to feel the light drag of pen across paper, finding the sensation as soothing as always. He writes to create something of his own, something he can be proud of. He writes to escape the world he wishes were less broken and more like the idealised society his young mind had imagined. He writes.
An hour quickly passes in words pouring out of him like water from a broken faucet and Blaine pauses for a moment to read over the seven pages he's managed to fill with nothing more than deep and detailed description.
It begins with the quirk of a smile more beautiful than any sight the boy had seen before. It's honest, compelling, real. Then eyes meet and the orbs staring back at him morph from green to blue to green again as the sun dances at different angles. Impeccably dressed and hair styled to perfection, it's obvious that this man takes appearance seriously. His tall, lithe frame hints at a past in dancing and the boy wonders if he'll ever discover the amount of truth in this assumption. Across from him, the stranger sits with grace yet still holds himself with a certain pride, and the boy marvels at the way in which he feels drawn to the man without knowing a single thing about him. His face is warm and inviting but ethereal in a way that has the boy questioning his existence.
His skin is milky white, almost like porcelain. The boy later learns how fitting this is as he clasps the man's hand in his and hears his name for the first time.
Kurt Hummel.
The sound of feet meeting gravel brings Blaine back to the present and his eyes lift from the page in front of him to settle on the park bench opposite. It's now occupied by a man who looks strangely familiar. Blaine can't think of where he's seen him before so he stares for a little while longer, his mind whirring as he takes in this stranger's beauty. After a moment, the man catches Blaine's eye and smiles. It's a greeting without words and Blaine smiles back, his heart pitter-pattering faster and faster the longer their eyes stay locked.
Blaine's so shy now. Maybe in his early high school days, before his confidence was shattered into a mess of bruised ribs and a broken collarbone, he would approach him. Tell him he had the most beautiful smile he'd ever laid eyes on. Ask him if he'd maybe like to go for some coffee to warm the fingers that were no doubt freezing beneath his designer gloves.
But Blaine knows better than anyone that he's no longer that self-assured boy from his past. Some days, most days, he wishes he were, but people change and wishes don't come true.
As if sensing Blaine's hesitancy, the stranger stands up and closes the few metres separating them, offering Blaine another smile as brilliant as his first. Blaine feels his heart speed up even more and he takes a deep breath in a vain attempt to still the rapid beating.
"Hi," Beautiful Stranger says, coming to stand in front of him. His voice is angelic - how fitting.
"Hi," Blaine echoes and he hopes he doesn't sound as nervous as he feels.
The man falters for a second, his eyes flicker to the ground as if unsure of the real reason he came over in the first place. He hesitates just one more moment before diving in, "I promise I'm not some freak who approaches strangers as a really weird hobby," he says with a small grin that Blaine can't help but return, "It's just, I've had a really bad day and I know this isn't like preschool where you talk to someone and you're instantly the best of buds, but I could really use a friend. Okay, wow, that was forward, let's rewind! What I meant to say was: Hi. I love your coat. Where did you get it?"
Blaine can't help but find the verbose response incredibly endearing and just a little bit adorable, and he relishes in the fact that this man hasn't come over to ask him to stop smiling creepily from across the path. For the second time today, he thanks his mother's voice in the back of his head for badgering him to pull on a coat before leaving his apartment.
"Um, it was a present from my brother," Blaine tells him, unconsciously rubbing a thumb and forefinger over the material covering his wrist. He wishes he had a more eloquent reply, something to wow this man but his usual bashfulness is kicking in and even if he feels the sudden urge to share everything, he hasn't the words or the courage to do so.
Beautiful Stranger nods, that gorgeous smile still in place as he unashamedly looks Blaine up and down. "Mmm, I approve of his taste."
"Well he likes to keep up with what's in and dress me appropriately," Blaine shrugs and then realises what he's just said. "Not that I still live with my brother," he hastens to clarify and Beautiful Stranger laughs, his eyes somehow even brighter than before and Blaine can already feel the tug of his heart threatening to open up and let someone new in. "He just visits a lot. Well, not as much anymore but -" Blaine stops abruptly and bites his lip. "Sorry, I'm not usually like this. I don't tend to blab on about my life to strangers."
"It's fine," the man assures with another laugh and Blaine relaxes at the sound of it. They stare at each other for a moment before Beautiful Stranger offers his hand and it's another second before Blaine realises he's trying to introduce himself. Blaine grins and takes the outstretched hand in his, the skin against his own just as smooth as he had imagined. He feels a spark of sorts shoot through him as the stranger – no, friend, Blaine corrects himself – squeezes his hand and he almost laughs at how clichéd this is. Life isn't a fairy tale, or some romantic comedy starring Meg Ryan, but right now feels like it and he doesn't even try to hide the smile spreading across his face.
"My name's Kurt. Kurt Hummel," the Beautiful No-Longer-Stranger supplies and suddenly Blaine recognises the colour-changing eyes staring back at him as the ones he wrote of minutes before. His eyes take in Kurt's lean form, stunning smile and snow-white skin, and he wonders if anything in life is more than just a coincidence.