The sun was shining, birds were singing, the air was fresh and clean and a light breeze was blowing. Everyone was starting their daily routine, setting up shop and greeting their fellow villagers with a bright, "Good morning!"
But not Kurt Hummel.
Kurt Hummel woke up at precisely half past seven, his crystal blue eyes taking in his brightly lit surroundings, the warm summer breeze drifting against his smooth, almost porcelain skin. He got up, made his bed, and went to check on his father - the town inventor, and a genius one at that. He saw that Papa was still asleep, laid a kiss on his forehead, and after cooking a hearty breakfast of an omelette and bacon, left a note that he was off to the village to procure groceries.
And so he went, taking with him his favourite satchel and slipping in some money, taking a book he'd borrowed from the local bookshop. The moment he walked outdoors, he opened the book, hoping to finish it again through his grocery-shopping round in time to return it to the bookshop owner, Mr. Schuester. He was used to walking around with his nose in a book, and he was certainly used to catching the strange looks villagers gave him through his peripheral vision; not only because he walked and read at the same time, and not only because he was one of the few properly and completely literate people in the village, and not only because he was probably one of the finest-looking villagers, but also because the way he dressed defied what the villagers defined as normal. For example, today he'd chosen a plaid shirt, green and orange and white, with studs on the shoulders, and he'd tucked it into a pair of simple black trousers.
His black boots treaded the cobblestone streets, his eyes devouring the words on the pages in front of him hungrily, and as he walked, he was interrupted by Ms. Beiste, the baker, greeting him with a loud, "Good morning, Kurt!"
He looked up for a second, nodding and smiling. "Morning, Ms. Beiste," he said, hesitating before placing his bookmark in the pages he'd been reading, but not closing the book. "And how is business doing?"
"It's on the rise!" Ms. Beiste replied, grinning. "Ah, another book, I see."
Kurt nodded happily. "Yes! This one is about a young boy, and a beanstalk, and a giant…"
"Azimio, do keep an eye on that dough," Ms. Beiste said, turning around and frowning at her apprentice. She turned back to Kurt, smiling. "Would you like a bun?"
Kurt shook his head. "No, thank you, Ms. Beiste, but I appreciate the offer," he replied, inclining his head and moving away. "Have a lovely day!" The moment he got out of the baker's sight, his nose was in his book again.
He went around, collecting groceries as he read – a fish during Chapter Two, some vegetables during Chapter Five, and flour during Chapter Eight. Soon enough, he'd finished shopping for groceries, bidding the stall-owners adieu, and he walked up to his last stop, the bookshop.
"Good morning, Mr. Schuester," Kurt said, entering the store and hearing the tinkle of a bell. The man sitting at the counter looked up, smiling.
"Kurt!" he said, standing up and walking up to Kurt to clap him on the back. "I've told you time and time again, call me Will. Or at least Mr. Schue."
Kurt smiled shyly as the older man's eyes roved up and down his figure. "I'll stick with Mr. Schuester, thank you," he said politely, then he handed Mr. Schuester the book. "Here you go."
"Finished already?" Mr. Schuester said in surprise, taking the book from him. "How impressive!"
"I couldn't put it down," Kurt confessed. "It was fantastic! The adventure was practically bleeding from the pages." His eyes lit up. "Any new books in stock today?"
Mr. Schuester laughed. "Not since yesterday," he said, grinning, the hand on Kurt's back pushing him toward the bookshelves. "But feel free to borrow any other book you wish."
Kurt looked at all the assorted books, tilting his head to the side to read the many titles. "Oh, this one is my favourite, I'll borrow this," he said, retrieving Jane Eyre.
"But you've already read it twice!" Mr. Schuester said, smiling. "How about some Hans Christian Anderson? The Little Mermaid is lovely."
"It's also terribly depressing," Kurt pointed out. "She dies in the end, her love rejected by a suitor she was never meant to truly be with. But this…" He gestured to the book. "I think Mr. Rochester is probably one of my favourite characters in literature. He's so… tortured. It's intriguing." He smiled, stroking the binding of the book lovingly. Mr. Schuester nodded.
"Well, if you like it so much, you can have it," he said.
"Oh, no, I couldn't possibly…" Kurt protested, but Mr. Schuester was pushing him out of the shop.
"No buts! It's yours."
"Thank you so much, Mr. Schuester!" Kurt exclaimed, smiling widely at the older man as he exited the bookstore. "Goodbye!"
He opened the book, ready to plunge into the adventures that lay in store for Jane Eyre, when he bumped into –
"Morning, Kurt!"
Kurt smiled politely. "Hello, Blaine," he said softly, beginning to walk. The shorter man fell into step next to him.
"How has your day been so far? Wonderful, I'm sure," Blaine replied.
"Yes, it has been rather productive," Kurt replied, nodding.
"Hah, lovely!" Blaine said, "But more so now that I'm here, huh?" Blaine winked, nudging Kurt unnecessarily hard and knocking his book into a puddle of mud. Kurt's eyes widened, and he reached down to retrieve the book, cleaning it off with a rag he had in his satchel. Blaine hadn't even realized, but he'd stopped when Kurt had, watching him clean the book. "Why do you always have your nose in a book?" he asked. "I mean I'm genuinely interested. Most of the villagers here are more interested in, oh, I don't know, living lives outside of paper and glue…" He chuckled at his own teasing.
Kurt looked up at Blaine, starting to walk again. "I just like reading," he said simply, shrugging and placing the book in his bag reluctantly, but realizing that yes, he did have to keep talking to Blaine. They continued their idle chatter for a while, and as they passed the Lima Bean coffee shop, three waiters stopped for a second to admire the pair… or more specifically, Blaine himself.
"You know, we all know Kurt is gay, and Blaine is gay," Wes pointed out, frowning. "And honestly if I wasn't straight, I'd be all up on that. I haveta admit, Blaine is a good-looking fellow. So why isn't Kurt falling for him already?"
"I really don't get it," Nick said, sighing. "I mean… Blaine is like, the perfect specimen of like, everything. He can sing and dance and memorize people's coffee orders… like, what can't he do?"
"Woo Kurt, apparently," Thad pointed out with a wry smile. "Haven't you heard he's been trying to get Kurt to fall in love with him for ages? And I've heard he's planning to ask Kurt out officially soon. Let's hope that Kurt sees sense and just admits to his attraction for Blaine already… how could you not love the guy?"
The three men sighed in unison.
"Get back to work!"
They looked at each other, grinned sheepishly at their boss, and scurried off to do their jobs.
Meanwhile, Kurt and Blaine had walked up to Kurt's doorstep. "So… here we are," Kurt said. "This is my stop." He stood there slightly awkwardly, waiting for Blaine to move away. When Blaine didn't move away, instead closing his eyes and leaning in, Kurt's eyes widened – again – and he blurted out in a rush, "Okay well I guess I'll see you around alright goodbye and have a fantastic day!" He then proceeded to open his front door and escape into his house, leaving Blaine to open his eyes and shake his head, frowning.
"I don't understand," he muttered, walking away from Kurt's house. "Why won't he like me?"
"BLAINE! HEY! BLAINE! HEY BLAINE! BLAINE, HEY!"
Blaine turned to see his friend, Jeff, running full-speed towards him, reaching him panting. "So? How'd it go? Did he kiss you? Did YOU kiss HIM?" Jeff began to make kissing noises. "Blaine and Ku-urt, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s…"
Blaine sighed, cutting Jeff off. "He rejected me. I went for it and he just like ran into his house." He sat on a rock. "I just don't understand. I'm good looking, and polite and stuff, so why doesn't he like me?" Jeff let out a little 'awh' sound, patting Blaine on the back as he listed all the reasons why Kurt Hummel should like him.
Said boy had entered his house with a bright smile as he saw his father awake and hard at work on his latest invention. "Good morning, Papa," he chirped, walking to the kitchen area to sort out the groceries. "Did you like breakfast?"
Burt Hummel slid out from underneath his strange contraption. "Breakfast? Oh, oh yeah, it was great. Thank you, Kurt." He adjusted what he called his 'inventing glasses' – glasses that magnified instead of simply adjusting sharpness of sight – and slid back underneath his invention. "I did love that bacon," he murmured. After a bit of tweaking, he slid back out. "Kurt? A wrench, please?"
Kurt looked up from his sorting, putting his satchel down and walking to Burt's toolbox sitting on the dining table, retrieving a wrench and throwing it in the air, watching it spin for a second before catching it as it fell, then handing it to Burt, who grunted in thanks as he got back to work. Kurt pulled out a chair from the dining table, sitting on it and watching his father work.
"Not to disturb you, Papa, but what on Earth are you working on?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. There was a loud 'BANG!' as Burt forgot he was underneath his invention and hit his head on the underside of it, sliding out and wincing. Kurt quickly got up to get some ice. "Here, just sit for a second," he said, helping his father up to sit on the chair he'd been occupying and handing him the ice pack. Burt nodded, pressing it to the quickly forming bruise on his forehead.
"Thanks, kiddo," he said gruffly, wincing at the combined sensations of the cold ice and the swelling bruise. "You were asking me something, right?"
"Oh, yes," Kurt said, pulling up another chair. "What are you working on? I know it's for that inventor's fair in Carmel, but what exactly does your invention do?"
Burt chuckled, putting the ice down for a second to press a finger to the bruise gently as a form of diagnosis. He winced, but decided it would heal quickly. "It, uh, it's an automated woodchopper," he said. "It moves by itself, and it runs on vegetable oil, so you don't need to waste normal oil… I thought it'd be useful."
His son smiled widely. "Papa, that's brilliant," he said, standing up and leaning over to give his father a hug, which the older man returned happily. "I'm confident you'll win the fair with this. It's a great idea!"
"You think, kiddo?" Burt asked, releasing his son from the embrace. "I mean, you read all those books, right? You ever read about something like this?"
Kurt shook his head. "No, I haven't. And I have faith in you, Papa," he replied, nodding as he sat back down. "Now, you put that ice back on that bruise, and I'll make some coffee. Sound good?"
Burt smiled. "Thank you, Kurt. That… that would be great."
After his short coffee break, Burt got back to work, determined to finish his woodchopper, and after a few hours with small breaks in between, he finally slid out, covered in grease and black marks, getting up to collapse onto a chair. "Should be finished," he said, nodding. Kurt looked up from where he was cooking dinner and smiled as he scraped the fish from the pan onto two plates.
"Papa, that looks amazing," he admitted, bringing over the plates with cutlery and setting them on the table. "Mama would be…" His face fell at the memory of his late mother, and Burt looked up at him, wiping the grease from his face and hands with a napkin.
"She'd be proud," Kurt finished softly, smiling sadly at Burt. Burt nodded, standing up to retrieve some lemonade and pouring it into two cups, handing one to Kurt as he sat back down.
"To Elizabeth."
They nudged their glasses together, drinking the lemonade. Burt spoke again as the Hummels tucked into their dinner. "I'll be off to Carmel in the morning," he said, "Since my invention is finished and all."
"Oh?" Kurt replied, neatly slicing a bit of fish, popping it in his mouth. He chewed, and then swallowed. "You'll be taking Lord Tubbington, I suppose?" He chuckled.
Burt grinned. "Yes, I'll be taking Tubbington," he said, referring to their horse. "I can still remember you, Kurt. You were… six years old, I suppose, when we got Tubbington. And his previous owner had called him 'Lord', but you just… you just refused point-blank to refer to him as anything but 'Lord Tubbington'."
Kurt laughed. "At the age of six, I thought that was a perfectly appropriate name for a horse," he said simply, shrugging. "It wasn't my fault the name stuck. You have to admit, 'Lord Tubbington' is a far superior name than just 'Lord'." He smiled, cutting another piece of fish.
Burt chuckled. "Sure is, kiddo. Sure is."
