Author's notes:
This is something entirely different from what I've ever written. I have recently finished studying the many biographies of Oscar Wilde and decided that his story begged for a reprise. So here it is.
I'm not sure when I'll be updating, but considering the fact that schoolteachers seem to think we require no sleep at all, it might be a long time.
I do love writing as if I were in Victorian England.
But srsly, Wilde is da man.
THIS IS PAGE BREAK AND THAT MEANS THAT THE STORY COMES AFTERWARDS BLAH
Being in love with your best friend is agony.
That much I knew. That much I would always know.
As years passed, I could never really recollect the way it had happened. I only knew that it had. Somewhere between being introduced by a mutual acquaintance at a theatre where I had the honor of performing - as far as I could remember when telling the story to an occasional listener at an empty bar where I spent most of my evenings, drinking as much as I could before going numb and just sitting there, staring at the unfashionable tapestry, hearing drunken brawls break out, men cursing one another, the sounds of flesh hitting flesh, fist connecting with skull - all those sounds now held a new meaning of domicile to me - somewhere between our first meeting and where I am now, drowning my sorrows in cheap gin, there was a love story. At least, on my part.
How I had come to this... this degradation, I would never fully understand. I knew, but could never calculate what had happened, where that point of no return had been, one to mark my potential death as a social being. Looking back at the distant memories that to me were more vivid than any reality I existed in now, so many years later, I can only smile for even though that love had ruined what had been a perfect young man, a dandy, a polite stuck-up little runt who had charmed women and men alike with his bold views and wide, intolerable in the strict society which I was born into, smiles, whose eyes had gleamed with confidence for one thing had always been and always will be consistent about me - I am sure of who I am.
All I have left are my memories, dust-covered, faded recollections of things that I had held dear, things that had made me whole and things that had destroyed the perfection that I had once embodied.
THUS THE ACTUAL STORY BEGINS LA LA LA LA CAN'T WAIT FOR 'SEXY' YAY.
"Mr. Anderson? May I present to you Lord Kurt Alfred Hummel?" Lord Schuester seemed adamant about introducing me to the man, after all, Lord Hummel was all he had been talking about ever since I had bowed out after my successful performance at the theatre tonight, and stepped back behind the simple decorations. They said I had the voice of an angel, even though I had been the first to curse it - it was nothing more than an irritation to the nerves, my mother had told me once, sipping thoughtfully at the spirits that she poured down her throat regularly, seemingly refusing to be sober in my presence. I had never enjoyed singing that much, not enough to make it my career - a doubtful one at that - but proving my family wrong had always been one of my weaknesses. Now that the old hag had passed on, having finally poisoned herself with cheap wine and my father had left for India, of all places, and died of some sort of exotic fever - he had always lived quite splendidly and quite splendidly had he died, leaving what was left of his estate to me, the lead singer of the Dalton theatre that was the place to be - at least, for those who were the right kind of people, as my mother had called them, now I simply basked in the attention I was given on a regular basis. I had been born to be famous.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, knowing that such a gesture would be sure to at least insult a man like Lord Schuester, who had always considered himself a friend of mine, even though time and time again he had been told by everyone in my closest, narrowest circle - the select few, I might add - that Blaine Oscar Anderson never had friends, merely acquaintances. The string of thoughts that had gone through my mind just a moment before had vanished when my eyes fell upon the renowned Lord Hummel.
Back then, I knew close to nothing about the man, regardless of him being the talk of the town, and in a place as big as London, gossip was sure to spread quickly, even more so the gossip surrounding beautiful rich people. Lord Hummel was unconventionally good-looking, some might find his petite frame ghastly while others would fawn over his rich sea-colored eyes for hours. From the moment that I first met his gaze, I knew I would find myself included in the endless queue of his admirers - after all, he was perfection. Slightly taller than myself - hardly something unexpected, considering I was well aware of the nickname my so-called friends had dubbed me behind my back - the Gnome of Tite Street, Lord Hummel had a lean figure and a regal posture he carried flawlessly, head high up in the air, looking down at everybody with an unreadable expression. His hands where hidden in the pockets of a pristine dinner suit, undoubtedly a creation of a parisian taylor that seemed to embrace his body like a wanton lover, so close it was to his skin. Lord Hummel's hair was flawless, not one strand out of place, slicked back and then forth a little as was in style in the upper class circles. The most extraordinary thing about him, though, was his presence - all-encompassing and beautiful, and I knew that from the moment Lord Schuester had pronounced his name, the attention of all those in the room had gravitated towards the conversation that we were about to be part of.
"Mr. Anderson." Lord Hummel bowed his pretty head towards me in greeting, his eyes never leaving mine. His voice was like a jingle of merry Christmas bells, mixed with the resounding voices of paradise birds - it was high, higher so than the voice of a regular man, a voice that would shame one's masculinity, yet there was nothing shameful in the way Lord Hummel carried himself, superior than the whole room of descended royalty. I forced a polite smile to appear on my face, a polished art that every lord and lady knew - you could never smile too widely or people would see that you are happy. I fancied that I had mastered the skill quite well, before Lord Hummel appeared on the map of my world, his whole being possessing me to break out in joyous laughter. I bowed in response and raised my eyebrows in questioning:
"Did you like the performance, Lord Hummel?"
"Oh, Kurt, please. All those dreadful people calling me by my family name have sullied it to no extent, and having my given name spill from such talented lips would be a great honor." Lord Hummel smiled widely than was acceptable, which in a moment increased the volume of the chatter around us, more pairs of curious eyes falling upon the three of us. Lord Schuester, never one to like the attention, muttered something under his breath and excused himself, heading to find his lovely wife, Lady Emma, a charming woman who had been an admirer of my performing since the day it had begun.
"Kurt then. Might I guess it is safe to assume you actually did like it?" I inquired, stopping a waiter with a tray of champagne glasses and taking two, handing the slightly fuller one to my conversation partner, who had a strange look on his face - one could say it was flirtatious. Being my own man, I had known for quite some time that the members of my gender held more than just platonic attraction for me, though I had never acted upon it, for what I had felt for all of the young dandies had never been this strong and demanding. Knowing I was entering extremely dangerous territory indeed, I could not help myself but slip into it further, the beautiful eyes of Lord Hummel guiding me into the abyss.
"I have never enjoyed a simple singing performance as much, sir," Lord Hummel, no, Kurt, responded, taking a small sip from his glass. The crowd around us had slowly dissipated, some heading for home while others had been invited for nightcaps by their fellow spectators. A fair amount of people was left, though, and they were still gawking shamelessly at our introduction. How I despised the fact that no matter where they were born - behind an old bard or in a market, on silken sheets or bags of manure, humans were more curious than the infamously known cat whose care had brought its untimely demise.
"Well then, I thank you quite deeply, Lord Hum-, Kurt, and I would love to hope that tonight shall not be the last time I see you?" I asked, attempting for the enthusiastic expectation not to show in my facial features, yet I could not help it - Lord Hummel had captured my attention and with it, my heart. Enjoying the company of someone was less than heard of in the times when I lived and enjoying oneself in the company of someone was unheard of. One could never be careless enough to care.
"I do hope to see another one of your performances soon, too, Mr. Anderson, despite the ticket price being quite steep. Ah, well, my profligacy is a circulating notion anyway, so why not live to the fullest, surrounded by beauty and divine voices such as your own? Hedonism is the new reality of our century and to me, you are the very core of it." Kurt had the decency to let a fain red coloring swoop over his soft cheeks as he spoke the words with tenacity I had never heard to that day. His eyes still had not left my face and I could do nothing but gaze into them, transfixed. "Your voice is what would wake the demons of Hell and lull the angels of Heaven to sleep, and to hear it perform from a mere distance of a few feet would not only be an honor, it would be a privilege."
I knew nothing to say, except: "Blaine then, if I shall call you by your given name and thank you for the lovely compliment. For a praise aimed towards me to leave your mouth is almost criminal."
"Blaine." Lord Hummel's face seemed to burst with emotion as his smile grew a fraction wider, not showing off a lovely dimple that I had not seen there before. Murmurs got louder again, and I knew we could only still hold a conversation because of the decrease of the crowd. "Talent is not something I am used to witnessing, Blaine, the word seems to lack meaning nowadays, at least in the grand halls of old McKinley college."
"My own college." I bowed my head in recognition, understanding what the young man was speaking about. The college held no recognition of individuality, one could only achieve success there by blending together with the faceless crowd of alumni. It had no feeling, only the powerful sensation of unity that not one student liked but dared not express their concern. "Yes, when studying there I found they would not accept me for the person that I was."
"They are threatening to request my leave shall I not see the world through their eyes. I would love to make them see what had become of you, Blaine, a wonderful performer with wit and charm fit for a King." Kurt's eyes seemed to shine with mirth as he undoubtedly pictured the prospect in his mind. Glancing at the grand clock than hung behind my back, his face saddened: "I am afraid I must go. My guardians should be waiting for my arrival at home and hearing their dreadful whining after your voice would be a murder to the arts. I do hope to see outside the theatre, Blaine, so you must come around for tea to-morrow."
I considered the invitation for a mere second before inclining my head towards my companion: "I hope you are out of bed before five, then, Kurt, for I shall finish my business here by then and be well on my way towards your home."
Kurt pulled out a card with his address scripted on it in vivid red ink and handed it to me, his skin brushing mine with the softness to battle the soothing waves of the Pacific.
"To-morrow. Five o'clock. Good night to you, Mr. Anderson."
He bowed to me and then, out of the blue, presented to me a most dazzling smile the gray world of London Bourgeoise had ever encountered. And that was the very moment, the moment when I had received the most wonderful of gifts that was meant just for me, that Lord Kurt Alfred Hummel would always hold a special place in my young heart.