Author's Note: Hello again. First and foremost, I would like to apologize to those of you who have been reading 'Somewhere' and 'Responsibility' as I have not yet updated them. I'm sorry! It's just that I'm stuck and every time I try to write a new chapter for those two fics, I end up writing a new story. I just have so many ideas and this one just needed to be written. I even have a playlist for it!

Second, this fic is based a little on the movie (and the book) The Soloist. If you haven't seen it yet, you should. You really should. I recommend it. However, you need not watch the movie or read the book in order to understand this fic. I was just clearing up the fact that half of the idea for this isn't mine.

Lastly, I hope you enjoy this story! :) Reviews are always encouraged! :D

Life in New York used to be just a dream of mine. You know, a far-fetched fantasy that I thought would never happen. Until one fateful day, a rich man gave me a check for $100,000 when I saved his life during a car crash, thus allowing me to go to New York, buy my own grand apartment, and start a business that made me a hundred thousand dollars. That's where it all began.

Nah, I'm just kidding.

I'm a journalist. I work for the New York Times. It's not that bad. There are a lot of really cool people that I work with. Plus, journalism is something that I've always wanted to do. I've always written stuff like stories, poems... stuff like that. It's my first dream.

Okay, I'm not being completely honest.

Before I wanted to become a journalist, it has been my life-long dream to become a musician. I play different kinds of instruments: the piano, violin, cello, drums, guitar, flute, harmonica, trumpet, saxophone, and the lyre. But my first love was the piano. Since I was very young, I wanted to become part of the New York Philharmonic. I practiced everyday for hours, hoping that one day, I'll be as good as them. Each year, I look forward to graduating and leaving Lima, Ohio so I could go to New York and fulfill that dream.

When I was a senior in high school, our teachers asked us what we wanted to be after graduating college. I told them I wanted to become a musician. Apparently, that option is unavailable for me to take because musicians don't make a lot of money and I won't be able to provide for myself. Or my family, if I'm ever planning on having one (but I don't think that's really part of my to-do list). And that's not all— they said that I had slim chances of being a musician in New York, especially since I come from Lima. At first, I wanted to stuff cotton in their mouths, but then I realized that they were right. I asked them what job I could have, and they told me that I should be a journalist, since I've won several awards on writing. It didn't seem like a bad idea, so I went for it.

After graduating college, I immediately got a plane ticket to New York (with consent from my father, that is) and worked as a busboy for a restaurant in Manhattan. I only did it so I could pay for my rent. Coming from a small town, I really didn't have much experience with big-city things.

Luckily, I managed to adjust quickly to the New York lifestyle. A few months after I moved here, I made enough money to pay for my rent and I landed an interview for the New York Times. I showed them some of my work in my blog (don't ask why I keep a blog. I have opinions, goddamnit). Things were going well. I got the job as one of the columnists for the 'Opinion Pages', as I applied for. And everything else was pretty much set in stone for me.

Anyway, about a month after I got into the New York Times, I knew I needed more money to pay the rent since I'm not really getting much from being a columnist because I'm still a newbie. Also, I quit my busboy job. It wasn't really working out for me. Not that I was fired or anything. Okay, maybe I was. Point is, I knew I needed a roommate.

I put up flyers everywhere, advertising the apartment. The place was great, by the way. It had two bedrooms and I had no idea what the heck I was going to do with that spare one It was big enough for two people to live in. I needed a roommate.

I asked Finn, my brother, if he wanted to be my roommate. He's a technical sports director for the Giants. You know, the football team? Yeah. He's four years older than me, which means he graduated four years ahead of me which means he's been here in New York 4 years earlier than me. Anyway, I asked him if he was interested in sharing the rent with me and he said 'no' because he already likes the apartment he has. Plus, he and his girlfriend— now fiancée, Quinn are moving in together soon. And I don't think I can live with sleepless nights when they're doing the 'dance with no pants' next to my room. It's pretty disturbing, when you think about it.

So Finn was off my list.

I met this girl at the coffee shop. And we got married.

Kidding. Boy, am I on a roll.

But I did meet a really nice girl at Starbucks and we chatted for a while. I found out that she was looking for an apartment to move to because apparently, her roommate hated it when she does her singing practices in the apartment. Also, she's looking for an apartment in which the rent to share has a lower price than her current rent. She's a Broadway actress, a newbie. I am a fan of musicals myself and I was pretty impressed with her work. I talked to her for hours. Also, I offered her my apartment. She said she wasn't entirely sure if she can have a guy as a roommate. But I assured her that I'm not a predatory male. Well, I didn't look like one. She agreed and we immediately settled everything when we went to the apartment.

About 3 days after she moved in, we started going on… dates. And yeah, we made out and stuff. And… we did the deed a couple of times. Okay, judge me, but I only did it for experiment. I'm gay. But I just wanted to be sure. I mean, I could be bi for all I knew. But yeah, after dating for 3 months, I finally talked to her about this odd relationship that we had. Don't get me wrong, I like Rachel. I mean, I love her. And not in a romantic way. Like, in a best friend kind of way. But I was afraid that after lying to her and pretending to be something I'm not, she'd get mad at me and leave. But when I came out to her, she didn't get mad. She told me that the fact that we live together, dated, and slept with each other and also the fact that I'm gay, doesn't change anything in our friendship.

It didn't change anything.

And that's how Rachel Berry and I, Kurt Hummel, became best friends.

And now, here we are, 4 years later. Of course, as the years went by and the articles were written, my pay began to increase. I'm still waiting for the day they promote me. I so want to hear the name Chief Editor Hummel. It would mean a lot. It would be the only real achievement I would have in my entire life.

So, here's how the story goes.

I woke up Monday morning, ready for another day of work. My alarm clock buzzed repeatedly; that annoying sound had always been something I hated. I pushed the 'off' button and rubbed my eyes as I sat up, looking at the curtains of my window. It was raining. Great. The first thing I wake up to in the morning. I groaned and got to my feet, slipping on my fuzzy man slippers, and made my bed. Afterwards, I headed to the kitchen/dining room and sat down at the table, yawning. Rachel was making pancakes. Rachel always cooks, and that's a privilege I never want to be taken away from me. See, Rachel and I split the chores. She cooks the food and cleans the house. I wash the dishes. Simple as that. Oh, and I also walk the dog. Our dog, Toby. Although I don't really know if that counts as 'chores' because as far as I know, chores are something you don't want to do. And I really do want to walk Toby. I love dogs.

I was leaning my face against my hand with my elbow on the table and was almost falling asleep. Something startled me, and it was the sound of Rachel slamming the plate of pancakes in front of me. My eyes snapped open and I looked at her as she gave me a smirk and walked back to the kitchen counter. I grabbed the syrup and poured some on my pancakes. "You're a bitch, you know that?"

"Yes, sweetie. But I'm the best bitch ever, and I cook your food. Keep that in mind." She said as she sat down in front of me and ate her pancakes as she read the latest issue of Ok! Magazine.

As an attempt to get her back, I chewed on my pancakes and pretended to gag. "Yuck. These pancakes taste like cardboard."

They taste like heaven.

Rachel raised an eyebrow at me and continued to read and eat her food. I poured some of the orange juice that she made into my glass and drank some of it before pretending to choke. "Tastes like garbage!"

They. Taste. Awesome. She always makes the perfect blend of juice.

With that last remark, Rachel stood up and grabbed my plate and glass. "Hey!" I said, watching her as she placed my plate on the counter. "If you hate it so much, then good luck and starve yourself to death." She said as she returned to her seat.

I need food.

I immediately put on my best puppy dog face at her.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Look at you like what?"

"That… that whole— puppy dog face."

I stared at her.

She stood up in annoyance and gave me back my pancakes and juice.

"You could've just gotten them yourself, you know."

"Yeah," I said, smiling to myself. "But I wanted you to get them for me."

I could sense Rachel rolling her eyes at me from behind her magazine.

This is how our normal day starts.

After showering, I got dressed in my usual button-up shirt, vest, and tie underneath a blazer. But this time, I wore a coat, since it was raining. I grabbed my black messenger bag with my laptop inside and my other journalism equipment. Rachel didn't have any rehearsals today for the current musical she's in (she currently plays Maria in a production of West Side Story), and she told me that she's just gonna have some friends over. I kissed her goodbye on her cheek and headed off to work.

I always take the subway to work. Everyday. When I'm running late (which is almost always), I just buy a hotdog while waiting for the train and ask one of the janitors at work to buy coffee for me while I give them 5 bucks in return. It's a pretty sweet deal.

I arrived at the building 5 minutes late, but nobody really seemed to care. I entered the office and settled at my cubicle. I took off my coat and hung it on my chair. I took out my laptop and continued typing the piece I was typing last night. My deadline is on Wednesday and if I want to become editor-in-chief, I've got to make a good impression on the boss. See, our current editor-in-chief, Lance Howard, is retiring very soon, and we're all aiming for his spot. It's a bit selfish, I know. But during these hard times, it's every man for himself.

I'm currently working on a story about overworked construction workers downtown. It isn't the best story in the world, but it's relevant. And it was the only one I could find at such short notice. And they were the only ones who didn't yell at me to leave them alone and get a life.

I was working in peace when one of my colleagues came up to me. I tried to look as busy and professional as I could.

"Hey, Kurt. Are you coming to my daughter's birthday party this Wednesday?" Marlon Peterson asked as he sipped his coffee. As much as I wanted to have some kind of getaway from work, I can't. I have to work hard to become editor-in-chief and that can't happen if I'm just attending little girls' birthday parties.

I didn't take my eyes off of the laptop and didn't stop typing as I replied to Marlon. "Oh, geez. Sorry, Marlon. I can't. My deadline's on Wednesday and I've got to make this story look and sound good until then." I said, hoping that he wouldn't try to convince me to go any further.

"No, but it'll only be really quick. You can just stop by for a while and eat some cake while the kids play."

"Marlon—"

"Cindy will be so happy to see you!"

"I said I—"

"There's going to be a clown. It's gonna be really fun!"

Yeah, well I hate clowns.

"Why me? Why can't…" I looked around, looking for another guy for Marlon to bug. "Why can't you take Andy over there?"

Marlon looked at Andy who was chatting up with Derek by their cubicles. "Andy's wife's due date is on Wednesday. She's gonna have to be rushed to the hospital and he has to be there, just in case of emergencies."

I scoffed. "Well, I have a due date on Wednesday, too. I'm really sorry, Marlon. But I can't go. Tell Cindy I'm sorry." I said, half-heartedly. I really didn't have time for any of this. Marlon raised his hands up a little in surrender. "Okay."

I went back to work, ignoring the world around me.

It wasn't until my stomach started grumbling that I realized it was lunch time.

I told myself I'm going to type one more sentence before I go out and meet up with Finn and his darling fiancée for lunch. And so I did.

But just when I was about to finish up, Lance came into the floor to check up on things and it gave me the opportunity to show him my work. Maybe it would impress him enough.

"Lance! I'm working on this article, and I was wondering if you could tell me what you think about it… you know, just some overview from the boss."

Said the ever-so ass-kisser Gary.

Lance turned to look at Gary, waiting for him to show him his work. Gary approached him and showed him a hard copy of his article.

He even had it printed.

I smirked, watching Lance read over the article. wondering what kind of lame story Gary came up with now. I can't wait to show Lance my work. He's gonna be so impressed. He'll love it so much, he'll give me the position for—

"It's good. I love it."

Wait, what?

"But I think you should change the title."

Gary nodded his head rather enthusiastically and looked like it was about to snap off his neck. Which I hoped. "Like, to what?"

Lance gave Gary his paper back and thought for a very brief moment. "I don't know… something creative. Your title is too dull. Make it noticeable."

"But it's already noticeable."

Lance read the title once more. "'Overworked Construction Workers Seek Higher Wage'. That's not creative, Gary."

Wait, WHAT?

I was practically hyperventilating in my seat. Gary. Has. The same. Story. As. Me.

My deadline is on Wednesday.

After Lance walked out of the area, I closed my laptop and rested my head on it. "My life sucks." I murmured under my breath.

I felt like melting away into the Pacific Ocean, never to be found again.

There goes my spot at the editor-in-chief office.

I stood up and grabbed my coat lazily, putting it on. I grabbed my wallet and umbrella, headed down to the lobby, then outside. I opened my umbrella and began walking to the restaurant Finn and future Mrs. Hummel chose. And by 'future Mrs. Hummel', I meant for Finn. Not me. Just FYI.

When I entered the restaurant and saw them sitting at a table, I knew I was late.

And I was screwed.

I approached the two and started apologizing to the both of them (more to Finn, really. He's like the Hulk when he gets mad). Quinn just laughed and told me to sit down. I sat next to her, and not to Finn. God knows what some sort of damage he could do to my brain when he hits me with a chair.

"Relax, dude. We just got here, too." Finn said, looking at the menu. I breathed a sigh of relief and rested my head on the table like the pathetic loser I am.

"You okay, man?"

"No." I groaned and sat back up. "I have no story. Which means I won't be promoted to editor-in-chief. Which means… my life is over."

"I thought you had a story." Quinn said, looking at me. Oh, yeah. Quinn knows about my life. Hooray.

"I did. Until I found out that somebody else had the same story as me. And this 'someone' just happens to be the biggest ass-kisser in the world. Or at least, in the office." I replied, rolling my eyes at my hatred for Gary.

"Then just write another story, no big deal." Finn said and called a waiter to take our orders. I looked at him like he was insane. "It's not that easy to get a good story, Finn. My deadline is on Wednesday. That's two days from now. What do you expect me to do?" I said and returned to leaning my head on the table, groaning like I had stubbed my toe. I heard the waiter arrive with their usual 'hello, may I take your order' tone.

"Umm… is he okay?" the waiter said, and even though I wasn't looking, I knew he was referring to me. I lifted my head and looked at him.

"I'm gonna lose my job!" I yelled.

So, guess who ate his pasta with waiter spit on it?

I got home at about 6:15 and felt like crashing down on the couch as I eat ice cream while Rachel watches America's Next Top Model. I might be gay, but I'm not really into that stuff.

I opened the door to our apartment and was surprised to find 5 other girls in the living room, eating ice cream and watching ANTM. I stood by the door for a moment, looking at all of them, before taking off my coat and hanging it on the coat rack. I sighed and headed straight to the kitchen and placed my bag on the table. Rachel was there, and she gave me a quick peck on the lips. We're like Will & Grace. "Hey, sweetie. How was your day?" she said and brought a bowl of popcorn to the living room.

"Awful!" I said, opening the fridge and opening a bottle of beer. I took a sip and rested my head on the fridge. "You know that story I've been writing for days?" I asked, my voice a bit muffled against the fridge.

"You mean the one with the overworked construction workers you've been working on for days?"

"Yeah. Gary Ass-Kisser had the same story. Oh, and guess what? He showed it to Lance and he actually liked it." I said and joined the girls in the living room. I sat on the vacant couch out of the two couches that we had. Most of the girls were sitting on the sofa. I was so tired, I didn't even bother introducing myself.

Rachel cleared her throat. "Oh, um… girls, this is Kurt. Kurt, this is Amanda, Wynona, Hannah, Chelsea, and Sam. They work with me in WSS." She said and I gave the girls a weak smile and a quick wave. I really wasn't in the mood to meet new people today.

"So, is this your boyfriend, Rachel?" Wynona looked at me with a smile that definitely wasn't geared towards friendly. Oh, God. I can't have another one of Rachel's friends hitting on me.

Rachel laughed softly before looking at me, as if she was expecting me to back her up with an answer. "Uh… no. Not exactly. He's…"

"Not on your team." I continued, a smile forming upon my lips. Not to flatter myself or anything, but she looked pretty disappointed. I didn't have to tell them that we used to sleep together.

Rachel stood up from the sofa and grabbed a DVD from the table. The credits for the show they were watching were on (and so was that annoying theme song). She popped open the DVD case and carefully took out the disc. She opened up the DVD played and placed the disc in. She settled back to her spot on the sofa and focused on the screen.

"What are you watching?" I asked, glancing at my watch. It was still 7:00 and I was already so, so tired.

"We're gonna watch Confessions of a Shopaholic."

I stood up immediately. "I'm out." I said, bringing my beer with me. I began walking towards the balcony.

"Whatever you say, Kurt." Rachel said and I closed the sliding glass door behind me, sitting on a chair in the balcony, admiring the good New York view while wondering how many more months I'm going to last in this place if I don't have a job.