Kurt Hummel certainly wasn't proud of what his life had become. He never had what people called an easy life after all. It wasn't all bad of course. There'd always be shades of grey but these days they were mostly a really blackish, dark, windy grey if people had asked him. Nothing like when he was still in high school and that's saying something considering all the hate he had to deal with. All the bullying, all the mocking and people telling him how he was nothing but some stupid fag that would never make it and lately he started to kind of believe that they'd been right all along, no matter how painful their words had been and how deep the scars were they left in the end.
He had never wanted to end up with the job he had. The whole life he had, really. When in high school, he along with his best friend Rachel Barbra Berry had always had big city dreams. Dreams of being a performer, or a designer or anything glamorous really but when his busy life came to halt for a second and he actually was able to stop and think, it was the most ironic thing ever. His life was nothing like he had imagined it to be.
The young man remembered how when he was sixteen he couldn't even think the word 'sex' without having his cheeks burn red and tingling with embarrassment. He couldn't even enjoy looking at another naked body. It was awkward to him, not at all appealing but that changed when he met his first boyfriend.
Kurt had wanted to take it slow all along, see if things would work out and not only end up being a meaningless high school fling. The touch of their fingertips being as sexy as it gets but for the other boy it had never been enough. It wasn't like he forced the blue-eyed to do it, yet he definitely had pressured him. He had told him he wasn't normal, that it was weird how making out was enough for him. He had never really wanted more now that he thought about it. The soft slide of lips and the smooth glide of tongues against each other, another boy's taste in his mouth, was enough to satisfy Kurt. It wasn't like he didn't have a sex drive at all but he just never saw it as something that was needed. It was just something playing in the background, lingering but never actually breaking out until one night when he was being pushed into the mattress by a strong body, the slide of lips turning into slides of hips and the soft slick sensation of tongues joining was replaced by teeth clashing together. Hands were roaming over his chest when his clothes were pushed off urgently.
His ex hadn't been rough with him. He actually did take things slow but just not slow enough for Kurt. Of course his body reacted the way it was supposed to. Being a teenage boy after all Kurt grew hard under his touch, writhing desperately until it happened. Whether he would regret it or not.
It wasn't something he was proud of either but enough to give him some self confidence he only knew to fake before. Kurt often acted like he was superior and strong, but yet he was scared, terrified of not being good enough and it tore him apart.
His dad, Burt, had a tire shop. He had always been working hard, harder than anyone Kurt ever met and he had always admired that kind of moral his father had. Despite his butch appearance, him not being exactly the most clever guy, he was also the one with the biggest heart. He had never given up on his son, especially not after his wife, Kurt's beautiful mother, had passed away. Burt Hummel had never given up hope but tried to be everything for Kurt. He was the one who comforted him when he came out, not able to keep it a secret anymore, a dark shadow that ate him up from the inside out and left him being his unhappy, closed up self. He had also been the one who told Kurt to not throw himself around when it came to sex. That he mattered and not only his body. He had held him when Kurt had broken down after his first boyfriend broke up with him. Burt had let his son cry in his arms, sniffling into his sleeve before falling asleep on his chest, rolled up and safe, protected from everything dark in the world.
Oh the irony.
After years of struggling Burt's shop had to be closed. He couldn't afford the rent. The work. He had a bad heart condition and he knew Kurt wouldn't want to keep it running though he would have. Kurt would've done anything for his dad. He would've given it all up. His dream of moving to New York. Getting into NYADA or at least into a decent school for design.
He had always loved fashion, loved the way it made him express himself. Screaming silently yet loud to the world that he was proud of being different. That his high pitched voice and soft features and fashion sense were part of him, making him who he was at the end of the day. It wasn't like he necessarily wanted to provoke. It started with him wearing whatever he wanted, really. A bowtie here, a pin there or some hat and it just grew once he started spending his pocket money on 'Vogue' magazines and oversized pullovers. No one ever understood but it was his way of trying to get the attention he couldn't get. And now that he was pretty much alone he had learned to just not care anymore.
He was in New York.
It didn't matter anyways. He could just be himself without getting weird looks. Kurt was just another young, fashionable man with perfectly styled hair and groomed eyebrows, wearing Marc Jacobs and Gucci and other brands whose names no one in hell could pronounce right, according to Burt Hummel. But his son didn't care. He spent his money, his time on sewing and styling things, making sure it looked right and made him look slim.
The blue-eyed had always been self conscious over his 'pear hips' as his former cheerleading coach had called them but he learned to live with his body.
He had to, now that he was working the job he did.
Kurt had so much more to look after. His weight, his looks, the definition of his muscles.
It was rough and hard work and worth it? Not so much.
Often he just wanted to quit but what was he supposed to do?
His father couldn't support him, hell, he couldn't even support himself. He had barely enough money to buy food every month and Kurt would send him money every now and then when it got too much.
Sometimes when he found himself lying in bed, alone, just him and his thoughts and the steady ticking of his clock hanging on one of the walls that he called his home, he pictured how his life could've went. How he could be in love and free and have pear hips and eat cheesecake every now and then without worrying about how it wasn't low fat. How he could home into a warm home with a gorgeous, intelligent gentleman waiting for him with blankets and coffee and the new episode of 'Gossip Girl' ready to watch on their TV. How he could read outrageous articles from his fashion magazines to him with a silly voice, making him laugh and grin and kiss him, not because he had too but he sincerely wanted it just to show him what he meant to him. Because that's what Kurt Hummel had always wanted.
He had always wanted to mean something. Not even necessarily to anyone but he just didn't want to drown in the mess that was high school or better yet, his life.
Kurt had thought to have found this person the day he me Blaine but again, how was he supposed to tell this gorgeous young man, a stranger who was smiling so fondly at him, that he had sex with guys he didn't love? That he didn't even want most of the time just so he could earn enough money to actually afford his one-room-apartment and support his sick dad?
So instead of returning the friendly toothy grin he just sat down on his regular table in the coffee shop he always went to, in the corner, where he could hide behind some fashion magazine and dream of better times. Better ways to earn money without feeling sore and used and dirty after it.
He didn't like talking about how he even got into the business so he rather didn't. In fact only few people knew. Rachel did, not his dad. He could never find out, Kurt had decided. He wasn't sure if he could ever look his father in the eyes after admitting that. He had told him he got a paid internship in some fashion label which was wishful thinking of course. A fantasy that would probably never come true.
"Hey, what can I get you?"
A friendly, smooth, male voice woke him from his daydreaming and Kurt turned his head quickly, looking into wide, big golden orbs.
'Great...' He thought to himself. 'Pathetic Kurt. Absolutely pathetic.'
"Hi, well I'd like a Grande Non-fat Mocha if that's possible." Kurt said, a little more grumpy than he intended. It had always been this way. He shut down as soon as someone he found attractive tried to talk to him and this guy was just a waiter. Not really a potential person to date considering that he didn't even know him and he couldn't even tell if he was gay.
"Of course it is." The stranger grinned widely, exposing his perfect, white, shiny teeth and his eyes sparkled in the fake light inside the shop.
Kurt shook his head lightly, barely noticeable before cursing himself internally.
Who was he kidding?
"Thanks." He replied coldly, focusing on his magazine again.
"Hey, why the face? Coffee's on me today... sorry if I'm too fast forward but... you come here every day and you always look so... well... forget about it. It's none of my business but I'll bring you your coffee, for free and leave you alone forever." The waiter rambled and wrote down Kurt's order, biting his lip, eyebrows furrowed as if he was regretting what he just said.
Kurt shook his head again more firmly this time.
"It's fine. Really. I'm sorry, I just... don't want to talk right now."
"Or ever." He added in his mind.
"Right... I uhm... I'll be back with your order in a bit Sir." The hazel-eyed mumbled, turning away. "But if you ever want to actually talk. I'll say it like this... I'm here all day. People are rude and you're here all day as well and I never see you talking. Just thinking and... wow okay, I'm creepy. I suck at this I - I just wanted to say. If you want to talk. To a stranger... I'm not going anywhere." He smiled again and Kurt wanted to cry at how sweet it was. So sincere and god if only he knew.
He stared at the headline of his 'Vogue' absently, looking up quickly, meeting honey coloured eyes before flickering his own down again.
"I don't talk to strangers really..." He whispered, trying to shake the other man off but he wouldn't give up that quickly.
Blaine himself couldn't even explain why but somehow Kurt captivated him. The way he always crossed his legs when he sat, how he would flick through his magazines all day, studying everything that was written in there, analyzing every picture. Sometimes he'd sketch and Blaine would watch from the distance, wondering why this man had no one sitting there with him. It didn't seem fair to him. Kurt just had this interesting aura about him. He was gorgeous as well. Anyone who'd see him would think so. His skin was all pale and smooth, flawless, cheekbones prominent and his eyes a mix of every colour possible. He had noticed how they'd sparkle green sometimes, blue on other days but always with that special hint of gold.
Blaine shook himself out of his mind and let out a deep breath and shook his head with a faint smile.
"Alright then..." He said and Kurt looked up once again, hoping he'd leave him alone already considering how much of a jerk he had already been.
"I'm Blaine. No stranger. Just Blaine." Blaine said and gave Kurt another awkward smile before walking off, leaving Kurt sitting there with his mouth dropped lightly, eyes glistening and cheeks burning.
And then again. Who was he kidding. Maybe he was interested, maybe he wasn't.
Either way he was just another person to leave Kurt, hurt and alone, craving for something he knew he could never have.
