Now I'm finally back with my next story as promised.
This is a story about love, forgiveness and second chances.
Isabelle gave Kurt the best advice I know when it come to matters of the heart. She said: Sometimes you have to forgive in order to move on.
In canon Kurt followed her advice, but the idea for this story focus on what could have happened if Kurt hadn't called Blaine and reached out for him eventually.
I follow canon until the break up, but all interaction between Kurt and Blaine - after the flowers delivered at Vogue - didn't happen.
I hope you will enjoy the story and please tell me what you think along the way. I will post every Sunday and Wednesday. There will be 16 chapters all in all,
and I will write at least two more stories connected to this one.
I have two amazing beta readers for this story: Christinarn13 and lsklainegleek. I trust them with all my fanfiction heart and their encouragement and
suggestions help me keep on writing. Thank you ladies, from the bottom of my heart ;-)
Chapter 1 – What new dreams are made of
Kurt hated rain.
Snow was romantic, and stormy weather was dramatic, but rain was just making him gloomy and it ruined his hair.
He jumped through pools of water and raised the collar of his black leather coat under the umbrella. The heavy rain covered the big city in a wet, damp cloud. He sighed and tucked his bag further up on the shoulder to prevent it from becoming wet as well, but the distance he had to walk was too far to hope it wouldn't happen.
Upper East Manhattan was busy and crowded as ever at this hour of the day; everybody in a hurry to be somewhere, or nowhere, stepping on each other's toes. Every Starbucks and decent coffee shop was filled to the breaking point with New Yorkers craving caffeine before a long day of work would engulf them completely.
Kurt wasn't any different, and even if the lines were endless, at least getting coffee was providing him shelter for a while.
One of the biggest benefits to being your own boss was granting yourself permission to be late for work. One drawback was the lines between work and free time becoming more blurred, though most of the time it didn't bother him that much. There was something liberating about working when the ideas emerged, and relaxing when everybody else was busy. As long as his day had some sort of schedule and his thoughts weren't too unorganized, it was fine.
The dampness followed him into the subway to Bushwick. Wet coats, and dripping umbrellas contributed to the moistness in the air, and the smell of wet wool got stuck in his nose.
Yes, he definitely hated rain.
He could have ordered a cab of course, but it just seemed so extravagant when he was used to the trip to Bushwick by train, and he'd rather spend his hard earned money on clothes anyway. That much hadn't changed over the years, and Kurt couldn't imagine it ever would.
By the time he reached the loft on Willoughby Avenue from the subway station, his bag and the lower part of his satin beige pants were stained with rain and dirt. It would require a miracle of his dry cleaner to save them, but he had done it before. Every time Kurt entered the store with big, begging eyes, Mr. Saunders would assure him that he could do miracles. Good dry cleaners don't come around that easily and Kurt was one of Mr. Saunders most faithful clients.
He entered the building that had been his home for four years, and shook his umbrella free of water. When Rachel had moved in with Marc, and Santana had rented an apartment a lot closer to the dance studio in the Bronx where she was teaching, it hadn't made sense to keep the big loft with him living there alone. He eventually found a smaller apartment just a few blocks away, and now the loft was remodeled to work as an office and a guest-apartment, available when friends and families were coming to New York to visit. His dad paid half the rent so he could stay there with Carol once in awhile, and Finn had used it on several occasions as well.
Four years in NYADA with great performing grades, hadn't given Kurt access to the roles he had dreamed about playing since he was a boy. But, it was not only because of the fierce competition – it was him; him as a person, his voice, and his features. No matter how many times his friends and family tried to contradict him, and encourage him, he just knew it was the truth. His voice didn't shine in the classical male parts and nobody dared take a chance with a man singing women's songs.
Broadway simply didn't know what to do with him.
It was not an issue that should have taken him by surprise; it was the story of his life after all. But never giving up was another part of that story, and a part he lived to the fullest right now.
If he didn't fit in the traditional plays, he would have to write something that did fit him, perfectly.
Kurt had finally reached the top of the stairs. The elevator had a mind of its own these days, which left the stairs to be a much safer way to go up. A black sign with beautiful silver letters saying "By Blackbird" was now attached outside the sliding door to the loft. Kurt smiled at the sight of it, as he did every day, before he opened the door. It was the name of his company and represented new dreams.
Ally, having arrived early for a change, was balancing on top of an office chair on wheels as she tried to pin a drawing of a new costume on top of a huge board. Her long red hair was loosely held together by a big artificial pink flower and due to the stretch for the right spot to put her drawing, her orange dress was revealing a pair of woolen black stockings with small pink butterflies imprinted on the fabric.
"Are you trying to kill yourself, Ally?" Kurt asked horrified and strode to her rescue, making sure the chair wouldn't disappear underneath her feet.
"God no!" she giggled as he grabbed her by the waist and helped her down on solid ground again. "That would be such a waste of talent, don't you think?" She blew a lock of her flaming hair away from her eyes and beamed at him with cheeks all pink.
Kurt rolled his eyes. "Yes, it was absolutely your talent I was worried about, and not you as a person, or as my friend, stupid girl."
She hummed and looked at the big board pinned with more than 50 drawings. They represented months of hard work, and the gowns and dresses told a story by themselves.
Kurt went to his side of the office, the one with the neat cleaned desk and the pencils organized after use. He unpacked his laptop and got wired up for the day. "You're here early," he stated and went straight for new incoming emails with a focused expression.
Their desks were facing each other to make it easier to talk and work together, but it also inevitably led to some of Ally's mess crawling over to his side. She wasn't doing it on purpose, at least that's what she claimed. He had this theory that her papers, patterns, and funky accessories found their way to his desk in the middle of the night; and she had a tendency to agree with him.
"You bet I'm here early," she said with big eyes. "Would you believe I woke up this morning at 5 am with the most amazing idea for a costume?" She twirled in her chair and looked at him teasingly. "Guess which one," she sang.
Kurt opened his mouth in an excited oh. "You didn't."
"Oh yes I did."
"The Queen of the Demons?"
"The Queen of the Demons," she reaffirmed with a smile and one more twirl on her chair.
"Let me see it," he gasped out.
She reached for her sketchbook, pulled out a sheet of paper and turned it over to Kurt. He was amazed by the mere look. It was a black garment, narrowed at the waist and then widening down towards the floor where it toned into red, flaming colors. A big collar was raised behind the Queen's neck and a very simple crown with edgy and sharp spires pointed up in a mix with more flames on the top of her head. Her arms were covered by silver gloves stretched out to claw-like fingertips, resting on her hips, and a glowing skull-ring on the index finger made the overall impression intimidating.
"This is ridiculously good, Ally" Kurt breathed out. "It's everything I could have imagined and so much more. This is Morigan, in all her evil glory!"
"Yes," she said and fist pumped in the air. "I knew you would like it." She snatched an apple on her desk and took a huge bite with a happy look on her face.
"And you're sure you can sew it?"
"Of course, Hummel, I can sew anything I want."
They were opposites in every way, Kurt and Ally, and by the mere look, it didn't make sense that they could work out. Ally was loud, dreamy and extremely visual, where Kurt was focused, sarcastic and determined. She was a costume designer. They had met through a musical assignment between NYADA and the designer school, "Art of Costumes" that Ally had attended at the time. They had both been in their third year, and the rest was history.
They had instantly clicked. They worked well together and breathed each other's talents. So when they both were out of jobs by the time they graduated, it didn't take long to unite their dreams.
They wanted to write their own musicals, and two weeks later the company "By Blackbird" was a reality.
Kurt started to sort out the most important e-mails for the day. There was so much to do besides the creative part when the company should make a living for the both of them. They had different sponsors to keep happy and funding to seek.
The first step to make this dream come true was to write the musical, with Kurt in the lead male role. The real challenge was to have it picked up by one of the smaller off-off Broadway theaters that believed enough in the project to take a chance on them. None of the big theaters would take a risk like that, which was completely understandable. But if they could make a profitable play out of it, bigger theaters might show interest later on, and things could really take off from there.
One theater group in particular, the Patheon Independent Theater Group, which was housed in Brooklyn, had already expressed an interest in the production. They needed a draft of the play, the storyline, a couple of musical numbers and costume drawings before they would commit. The one major bump in the road at the moment, and the thing that left Kurt sleepless at night, was the musical numbers. He knew how to sing big songs, but he didn't know how to write them. The city was saturated with talented composers, but the good ones were too expensive for a reason – they were good! He and Ally had considered an open audition for songwriters, but with a tight schedule ahead, they had agreed on contacting different agencies and asking for submissions instead.
"Have you received any new submissions today?" Kurt asked and put on his glasses before he started typing an answer to a very determined man who had demanded influence on the play if his company should sponsor anything. That was clearly not going to happen – ever!
Ally threw the rest of her apple in the trashcan and wiped her hands on a napkin. "Yes, I actually have." She touched the mouse to bring her computer back to life; "twenty eight submissions to be exact."
"Really?" Kurt asked and stared at her over the rim of his glasses.
"Yes," she said with a smile, "and I bet we're going to find just the composer we need among them."
Kurt squinted. "We'll see about that. There's no way I'm going to pick someone mediocre just because we run out of time. This musical is nothing if the songs are not powerful and dramatic enough.
Ally surrendered with her palms in the air. "I agree," she remarked a bit sternly. "I'm just asking you to keep an open mind, that's all."
A familiar headache loomed from somewhere in the distance. They'd had this discussion numerous of times, but Kurt refused to compromise on the issue. He had rejected a lot of submissions and composers, even some promising ones, just because it hadn't felt right. "Look Ally, it's more than talent; we both know that." She nodded as he rubbed his temples. "It has to be someone we like, someone we trust, and who can follow our creative pace."
"And I'm sure we'll find just the right person," Ally added, a bit more soft this time. She got up, walked to him, and jumped up to sit on his desk. "This will work out, Kurt." She nudged his foot with her shoe. "We're going to write this amazing musical. We're going to have it picked up by a lot of theaters, and we will succeed."
Kurt met her green eyes with gratitude. Ally was a lot of things, but in the center of her loud, colorful and obnoxious personality was a heart of gold that would never let him down.
He nudged her foot back, expensive Italian leather meeting orange tied up boots made of a questionable material. He smiled at her. "I promise I will loosen up a bit as soon as the issue about a composer is solved."
"You will?" she asked seriously.
He knew he had been on edge and all tensed up for awhile, but only because this was so important to him. He was fighting for this new dream that hopefully would lead him back to the original one.
He winked at her. "I promise."
"We should enjoy this ride you know," she said and stroke his hand. "It's a lot of hard work, but it's also everything we love to do. One day, we'll remember sitting here in the loft looking for the right composer, and tell everybody that it was the moment before everything happened for real. It's right here within our reach, Kurt, and we're going to grab it."
He turned his hand and let their palms meet. "Have I ever told you what an amazing friend you are?" Kurt asked.
"Nope, but I know it anyway. I can see it in your eyes, and that's good enough for me."
She jumped down from his desk again and went to the board hanging next to hers that contained the storyline. It wasn't in a neat chronological from-A-to-B kind of way, more like a this-is-beyond-brainstorming-even-though-it-still- looks-like-that kind of way.
She hummed. "A composer would not know his or hers way in this twirled around story. It's time to make the hard decisions, Kurt. I mean, at least sort out the first couple of scenes and then go from there."
Kurt tugged down the sleeves of his shirt and brushed his pant off one more time before he joined her. "I agree," he said and viewed the three boards hanging next to each other. Besides the board with all Ally's drawings, there was a board covered in pins with post-it's, scrap pieces of paper, and even a napkin, all written whenever he got an idea.
The third board was completely empty, divided in two, one for the first half of the play, and another one for the second half. This board was meant for the real thing. When a note about a person, or a scene, or a song went to the blank board it had to make chronological sense.
"Okay," Kurt said after a while. "I'll try to get some headliners on the final board today."
It was actually a daunting process and he realized he had been putting it off for a reason. Everybody could brainstorm and have different ideas, but not everybody could transform it into a play. Now he had to prove to himself that he could do exactly that.
He had to focus on the bigger lines in the story. The release of tension and climax had to peak in part two, so first thing was to move everything concerning that scene to the second half on the final board. Then he slowly started to build up the settings around that particular scene.
So far none of the submissions Ally had been playing in the background had really caught his attention. A lot of the songs people had written seemed unpolished and fumbling. Besides, writing a couple of songs could not really be compared to writing 10 – 12 songs, arranged for an entire orchestra.
Kurt was lost in the details of the lead character's entrance in the scene when the room suddenly vibrated with a familiar voice from Ally's computer. He froze in his motion and suddenly found himself listening with every fiber in his body as he closed his blue eyes.
He would have recognized that voice among thousands of voices. It was a deep rooted part of him and it had been touching his heart when he thought it was untouchable. The deep, soft bass, mixed with a more raw unpolished higher pitch that made it unique and complex.
Kurt exhaled as something forgotten and buried grew like a flower through concrete. He listened to the lyrics, caught the nature and mood of the melody. Every rise and fall of that voice pulled him back to something that had made his world complete 5 years ago.
Warm amber eyes that had made love to him even before the physical connection. Glimpse of a soul that had matched his in more ways than he had thought possible at his young age.
"Wow, are you listening to this, Kurt?" Ally pulled him right back to reality with her excitement.
Kurt managed to center himself again before answering. "Yes," he said softly, still facing the board, "I'm listening."
"He is good, Kurt, and it's a beautiful song," she stated, "by far the best we've heard! Let me just check out who this guy is."
Kurt could hear her tap away on her computer as the song continued in the background.
He let the vibration in his body settle before he slowly turned around and looked at her. "His name is Blaine Anderson," he then said and tried to make the world stop spinning. The engagement ring on his finger suddenly felt heavier than a rock.
Just getting started - and I hope you have time to review ;-)
Love Melissa