A/N: I apologize for any spelling mistakes or anything of the sort. This is the product of a writers block, but I will come back to it later.
The story in part takes place in Denmark, a small country north of Germany (look it up if you're confused).
As Kurt sits on the plane and looks over the ocean, he wonders how the world has come to the point it is at. The question can be answered, but it takes a while, if you want details and for Kurt to put in his own story as well, it makes it even more complicated.
So where did it start? Kurt asks himself, staring out the window on the plane. A man besides him is snoring, ear buds blaring music just loud enough that Kurt can hear it over the roar of the engine. Behind Kurt an agent is seated, keeping an eye on him.
After Burt had died from the heart attack, Finn had stopped defending Kurt and along with him, Carole had slowly drifted away from him, too. It didn't matter, if she had said he was always welcome to stay over or ask for any help at all, it never really mattered. The glee club went out of the window as soon as Kurt couldn't find the strength to attend any longer. Somewhere along the way came the first guy and then the next, never lasting long in the relationship, but always happy to use and abuse Kurt.
In Kurt's senior year, some kid was killed at a neighbour school. Not that anyone really talked about it, but according to Rachel, the kid had been gay. He was only 14 years old, too. It was really only one of many tragic deaths. Before Kurt could even graduate, not only two other young people in the area around Lima had died, it was a national thing. Hate crimes spiralling out of control all over the US.
Then Obama was shot. It wasn't like Kurt didn't somehow see it coming. Out came the hatred and suddenly anyone LBGQT or openly supportive was going underground. Kurt had been no different, except everyone else had someone to disappear with; Kurt didn't have that. He only had himself.
A few months back, Kurt had heard about a rebel group founded in Europe. But before Kurt could get on a plane and travel to join them, he was caught by a hate group and told that the only way he was traveling to Europe, would be to spy for them. Kurt had agreed to their terms.
The agent behind Kurt was there to keep an eye on him, but only during the travel. As soon as the plane would land in Denmark, the agent would be gone and Kurt would be free to seek the rebel group, on the condition that he would report back to the US.
When the plane lands in Kastrup Airport, it is noon and Kurt's eyelids are heavy with the lack of sleep. He'd kept himself up the whole way in fear that the agent might add a microphone somewhere or drug him. But the time of the landing was perfect.
Kurt got his bags and after half an hour, he is on a train on his way to Central Copenhagen. The train is almost empty and very quiet. The seats are cleaner than Kurt had gotten used to in New York, where he had spent the last couple of months during the worst parts of the witch-hunt yet. In the other end of the coupé, there is a young man sitting with his eyes glued to a Danish newspaper.
He's beautiful, but Kurt doesn't let himself dwell on it. Instead he gets up and gets out at Nørreport Station, an underground train station in the middle of Copenhagen, right where Kurt needs to be. The station, opposite the train, is crowded and Kurt almost falls over a strangers feet. But soon enough he is on ground level; bag on his bag and walking down the main shopping street.
The city is nowhere near as mind-blowingly big as New York. To make the comparison is laughable, really, but Kurt cannot help himself, as he misses the Big Apple already. After walking for 15 minutes, turning right once, twice, three times (and then Kurt loses count, but is it really that important?) he walks past the old castle, where the royal family once lived. It's huge and as he walks through the main gates to get to the other side, he passes men in black suits that nod at him in a friendly matter. There are even a group of students almost his age sitting by the horse statue, smoking cigarettes and listening to Frank Ocean.
How they dared do it right where politicians hold their meetings Kurt almost questions, but he bites his tongue. Frank Ocean's music has not been banned in Denmark or anywhere else in Europe. As a matter of fact, Frank himself lives in Berlin.
Kurt turns to walk back to the main street, Strøget. Right across from a horrible shoe store filled with young girls that all have their hair bleached is a two-storey restaurant. Kurt walks in and orders at the desk and then stands there, looking around nervously. The rebel group should be seated right up the stairs behind him, but there is no way for him to know. He asks the man behind the counter for water and a pack of cigarettes along with the food and pays in cash.
There's a smokers room by the windows containing three tables. The two of them are taken, each by six men. The last table is free, so Kurt carries his food there and sits down, opening the pack of cigs and takes one out. He then realizes he has no lighter, but before he can ask for a light, a young man is sitting next to him, lighter in hand.
As the smoke fills Kurt's lungs and mouth, he feels his tensed up muscles relax. He looks over at the man next to him. He is met with an almost sexual stare coming from a set of hazel eyes. They're eating him up from their place behind the man's bangs. They fall from the top of his head, just down over his eyes, while the sides of his head are shaved almost bald. The hair itself is perfectly dark and curly. Kurt's eyes travel down the strangers face to his slightly crooked nose and from there to the smooth pair of smirking lips. Their hands are still linked in the middle of Kurt holding onto the lighter, the contrast between their skin very clear.
"Du er ikke herfra," says the stranger. Kurt doesn't speak Danish and has to ask for a translation.
"You're not from around here, is what I said. And I guess you just proved me right," the man clarifies. Kurt doesn't really know to respond. If he has to be honest, for the first time since he landed, ha hadn't wanted to go back, but as the stranger questions him, he feel the guilt creep up his spine. Kurt knows he has brought part of a hate group with him, in doing this "mission".
"Did you get out of the states?" the stranger goes on, seemingly putting a puzzle together in his head. Kurt simply nods and takes a drag of his cigarette. The stranger nods, too, and lights a cig of his own.
"Wasn't it hard – getting out of there, I mean? Assuming you're gay, that is." Kurt shrugs and takes another drag before properly responding: "It was hard getting to the airport. Everything else was fine, since no killings are allowed at the airport or in the air."
"What's your name?" Kurt considers the question for a moment. If he doesn't respond, he could end up seeming suspect, but if he answers and this guy turns out to be the opposite of what Kurt is hoping for, things could go horribly wrong. He decides that he has to take the chance.
"Kurt. Kurt Hummel. And you would be?"
"Blaine Anderson. Been living in Denmark for about a year now. I was thinking of something, but you'd have to come with me for us to discuss it. Would you put your trust in me?" Blaine answers and Kurt almost blurts out that he would put a lot more than just trust in Blaine. But jus before those words come out of his mouth, he collects himself and gives a simple "yes" instead.
I swear I'm just a bird
...
Don't make me make you fall in love with a man like me
E/N: So, yeah, thanks for reading. Feedback is always welcome. Cheers!