A/N: Maybe one more. Maybe. I'll think about it. Until I decide, I'll keep this story as "incomplete." XD
"Again, Finn? How many times have you and Artie watched Scott Pilgrim Versus the World together?" I hear Kurt laugh in the other room, chatting idly on his cell phone with his stepbrother. "Don't you have the movies memorized by now? …Haha, of course you do. Why did I expect anything different?" He snorts a laugh. "Okay, well, while you two do that, Dave and I are going to take a trip to a film festival, listening to Adam Lambert in the car. Uh-huh. Yeah, talk to you soon, too. Uh-huh. Bye, Finny-boy!"
Ending the call, Kurt struts into the room, holding his phone in the air.
"I swear, that guy can ramble on for hours if it involves something he loves. Like video-game-and-comic-book-based movies followed by marathon rounds of each of the Halo games. And of course Artie is dragged into it all, because he's even more of a nerd for that stuff than Finn is." He shakes his head at their silliness and smiles. "So. Are you ready to go?"
I nod. Standing from the couch, I shut off the TV that I hadn't even been paying attention to in the first place. It was just tennis. Who cares about tennis? I grab my coat, and help Kurt slip into his. It's the Fall Film Festival, and I idly wonder if using the entire summer had been enough for Chuck to complete everything he wanted to. I also wonder how the entire fill will end up looking.
"Yup, all set." Quirk an eyebrow as we exit our apartment and lock the door behind us, I ask, "What was that about listening to Adam Lambert the entire ride?"
Kurt grins. "I have the urge to listen to him. Some of his older stuff, like 'Down The Rabbit Hole' or 'Fever.'"
I roll my eyes at him. "Whatever, Kurt. Play what you like. I'll be too busy driving anyhow."
As we head out to the car, Kurt poses, "Did you know that Adam Lambert didn't write or even intend to sing 'Fever?' It was a Lady Gaga song. Same thing with 'What D'ya Want From Me;' originally, that one was Pink's."
"Oh, really?" I hum idly. "Makes sense, then, why 'Fever' has that stuttering 'f-f-f-fever' and why he says 'he' in the beginning, as well as why there's random French in the song. That's very Gaga-like." And of course Kurt would know everything having to do with his teenage favorite female and gay male pop singers. I'd roll my eyes again if I weren't getting so heady from doing it so often around him from his shenanigans. "Where'd you find that out, anyway?"
"An interview with him for this dedication video about him back in 2010. I don't remember if it was E! Hollywood or not, though," he puzzles. Shrugging, he enters the elevator with me, and when the doors close, Kurt leans over and kisses me lightly on the cheek.
"What was that for?" I ask, smiling lopsidedly at him.
"Do I need a reason to kiss my lover?" he questions. He turns and faces the numbers naming each level we pass. "Besides, it's just because I feel so giddy right now. I can't wait to watch that movie. Not just because I'm in it, because I want to see how it all came together, including the parts we weren't in. And ohh, I do hope it goes over well. Chuck and everybody worked so hard on it, and my acting was fabulous if I do say so myself." He smirks, but his air of confidence isn't nearly as cocky as he sounds.
"I'm totally psyched, too," I return with a smile of my own. But I'm far less confident. "Do you think my acting was okay?"
"Dave, sweetheart, I don't think anyone could have done a better job than you," Kurt reassures me with his diva-attitude. He nudges me. "You've got to stop doubting yourself. I never doubt you, so you shouldn't doubt yourself, either."
Yes, but you're no where near as flawed as I am, I want to say, but that's when I remember how Kurt taught me to forgive myself. So right as the elevator does open and we step out, I stop to inhale deeply, and then exhale slowly, thinking to myself, No doubt. I'm good enough. And then as Kurt looks back at me, pausing in his adorable little steps to ask if something's wrong, I grin at him and catch up to his side. "Nope. Everything is perfect."
He taps me with a finger. "No, Dave. Nothing is ever perfect, because humans aren't perfect. But things can come close." And he winks.
"Well then, things are near perfect," I correct myself, smiling. And soon we're out in the deliciously cool weather (I'm usually too hot, so falls and springs are perfect for me. Winter is too chilled for my tastes, though).
Once we're in my car, Kurt makes good on his promise to play some of Adam's early stuff. It amuses me, listening to Kurt try to keep up with Adam's range. Sadly, even with his magnificent voice, Kurt simply doesn't quite compare.
Breathless, Kurt turns down the music after a song. "Whew… I don't know how he does it! I don't have enough air in my lungs to hit and hold the notes he can."
"The man is inhuman," I reply wittily. "He must have been genetically altered to be the absolute best male singer of this generation."
Kurt laughs. "That sounds like something I would say."
"You must be rubbing off on me," I grin, always a fan of that phrase since it sounds highly sexual. "And I do so love it when you rub off on me."
"Shut up, David," Kurt giggles, pushing me softly enough not to disturb my driving. "Don't give me any ideas."
"But I like giving you ideas," I mutter, a smirk still playing on my lips. Kurt shoves me again, saying that I should really shut up now, because he can't be thinking dirty thoughts when we're wanted someplace.
When we arrive, the convention hall is packed. It's the same one they use for comic book conventions and other similar assemblies every year. This time, it's for the Fall Film Festival. There are people from all over the country here, and even a couple from outside the country, looking for independent films to re-release in their own country either dubbed or subtitled. It's so trippy seeing all of these people here, actors and directors and special effect artists and editors, all conjugating in the same place.
Kurt and I find some seats near Chuck and some of the other actors. There's a woman with purple-streaked sandy blonde hair and electric green eyes (are those contacts? They have to be, because no one should have eyes that color) under Chuck's arm. He spots us and introduces us, saying that the girl's name is Mindy, and she's his fiancée.
"Oh, you didn't tell us you were engaged, Chuck!" Kurt gushes. He asks for Mindy's hand, examining the ring. "Ohh, and it's such lovely ring, too! How'd he do it, Mindy? If you don't mind my asking. I just love romantic things."
Makes me wonder if I should be more romantic sometime soon…
"Oh, he did it the Chuck way," Mindy says with a roll of her bright green eyes, laughing. She has a single dimple on one side, and there's a piercing in it. That would have to hurt, wouldn't it? She goes on, "He took me to a Chuck E. Cheese for gaming and cake to celebrate our three-year anniversary, and when he brought me a slice, the ring was perched on top of a puff of blue frosting, twinkling in the colorful lighting." She shakes her head. "Best. Date. Ever."
Chuck leans over to kiss her on the cheek. "You bet it was. We were able to be kids and then become adults all in the same night."
"Uh-huh," Mindy chuckles, and uses a black-painted fingernail to brush a lock of purple hair from her face. Chuck is artistically insane, and this chick is gothically artistic. They work together.
We sit down together, all in a row, and listen to people give small speeches and introductions of sorts before playing a film. Some are as short as a few minutes, animated, and then some are as long as Michael Jackson's Thriller, and then some are like ours, the length of a regular movie. There are breaks in between, for refreshments and using the restroom, and then an onslaught of nerves strike me.
Our movie is playing next, the second before last for the events of today.
I stiffen in anticipation. They announce the title of the film – Galactic Academy – and list the director's name, and a few of the main actors' names – "Hear that, Dave? That's us!" Kurt sputters excitedly – and then the entire room is hushed as the projector screen fills with the opening credits and the images begins to roll in.
The entire time I'm watching, I'm hooked. It's completely different than being on the other side of the camera, only seeing what you are doing and occasionally hearing one or two of the scenes being acted elsewhere. It's different than reading the script. I know what's supposed to happen, but actually seeing it… it's better than I thought it'd be, and I initially thought it'd be pretty awesome.
Kurt is clutching my hand between us during the intense moments, and rubbing my hand with his thumb softly during the sweet ones. He smiles when there's a funny, clever line, and then pouts when a character does something stupid. I'm watching the movie, I really am, but Kurt's face is a bit distracting.
When I know the kissing scene is coming up, I start glancing around the room at the other members of the audience.
I can hear Kurt's voice (sounding off in pitch by a notch) on-screen, echoing throughout the room. "But you don't deserve this, I do! I was the one who bullied you all those years, and somehow you forgave me; you're too wholesome to be one of the victims; it's just not right, it's just –"
And then I reply to him, and I notice how weird I look at the angle on the screen, the camera peering down at me, but slightly diagonal, to the point where I look like I have a small double chin. I grimace and look away, back at everyone around us.
And that's when I hear someone in the row behind me lean over and mutter to the person beside them, "Good God, they're not going to kiss, are they? I hate on-screen gay kisses. I can tolerate otherwise, but I mean, come on. Is the fagginess really necessary?"
I clench my fists and my shoulders and arms tense. I abruptly stand from my seat and storm out, headed for the bathroom. Second later, I hear Kurt scrambling to catch up with me. "Dave?" he says warily, jogging until he's breathless to keep up with my long strides. He touches my arm to stop me. I halt and pivot, not looking him in the eye. "You missed our kiss. It looked great, you know," he says quietly. He tilts his head to try and lock our eyes. "I heard it, too. I was sitting right next to you. You… can't let people get to you, Dave."
"I know. I know," I say sternly. "What d'ya think I'm doing out here? I had to leave, or else I wouldda punched out that guy!" I hiss.
"Dave, it's all right –"
"How did you ever stand it?" I murmur, trying to calm myself. "When I called you all those slurs and made fun of you? The most you did was yell at me! Why didn't you ever punch me out?"
"Because I knew you'd beat me twice as hard, and because you had your little jock lackies backing you up. But… I also knew that it wouldn't solve anything. I couldn't let me anger get the better of me." Kurt sighs and opens his arms. "Come here."
I step into his arms and give him a bear hug, because I need to crush out all of this aggression I have without being violent. And I need him to hold me together, lest I fall apart and burst back in there to curse out everybody who dares challenge what Kurt and I did for that movie. I nearly feel like bitching out Chuck as well, because him being a fan of controversy is the indirect reason for my anger right now. I inhale, sniffing, and Kurt's scent is enough to clear my head.
Exhaling, I release Kurt, and he offers me a smile. "Are you okay now? There's still the ending of the film we can watch."
I nod briskly. "Yeah, I think I'm okay. Let's head back."
Right before we open the door into the main hall again, I stop Kurt with a hand on his chest. He cocks his head. "Yes?"
"I just…" I stutter. "I mean… thanks. For everything you're always doing for me."
Kurt smiles. He reaches to touch my face, petting along my jaw. His index finger lightly strokes one of my beauty marks before touching my lips. As he hand falls, he says, "You're welcome. I do what I can to keep my boy in line," he jokes.
Oh, I'll gladly stay in line if it means having you, Kurt, I'm tempted to say. But I bite my tongue. Romantic or not, now is not the time.
We slip back into our seats, Chuck sending us a worried, questioning glance before turning back to the movie. It's nearly finished, about fifteen minutes from it, and Chuck looks so proud of how it came out. I empathize, but at the same time, I'm terrified. I can feel eyes on me, whether they're actually looking at the real me or the Max-version of me on the screen.
The film ends, and the judges mark something down on a sheet, since there are awards for each category. We're hoping to win either the sci-fi first place or the first place for romance. Drama would work, too, but not comedy, despite all of the comedic elements Chuck slipped in with his dry sense of humor (if not a bit morbid sense of humor; during one scene, there's a villain of sorts who's out to sabotage the main characters because he thinks the illness is a good thing to cut down on the population; so when he dies, he says, "Hmm… my mom said it would end like this one day. I should've listened to her and became a child psychologist.").
Afterward, there's another break, and then the last film of the day plays. It's slightly longer than ours, and it's a Western of sorts that takes place in Brooklyn. I'm betting this director was probably inspired by Quentin Tarantino's movies: putting Western-like elements, even the music, into non-Western settings. It's pretty clever, actually. I like this one. And I silently congratulate the director for slipping in hints that one of the main girls used to date another girl. At least our film isn't the only one.
While walking out of the convention hall, headed for my car with Kurt on my arm, some elderly couple stops us. The man, liver-spotted but not decrepit, smiles with teeth that have to be dentures with how perfectly white and aligned they are.
"Hey, you two boys are from Galactic Academy, right? That was my wife's and my favorite! It reminded us of Star Trek. Give your director our regards, will you?" he says.
His wife nods her head, her dyed hair feathery soft as it brushes her face. "And I loved your acting. I could really feel your emotions; they were so real. Where did you boys learn to act? It was so professional, like acting was like when I was young. I'm surprised neither of you have been in any of those big blockbusters lately. You have such talent, and chemistry." She smiles as her watery blue eyes flicker down to our interlocked arms. "But I can see that wasn't an act, huh? Well, good for you! I always appreciated it when people like you are brave enough not to listen to the other old farts like ourselves who think it's so damn wrong."
Beside her, her husband is nodding wholeheartedly. "Well, you two boys have a nice evening! Hope to see you on the big screen someday."
They turn to leave, but the woman stops and touches Kurt's shoulder. "Sweetie, are you all right?"
I glance over and find silent tears streaming down his face. "Shit! Kurt, what's wrong?" I say, touching his face to wipe his tears.
"I… I've never had anyone say something like that to me before," he whispers. He looks the woman in the eyes. "What's your name?"
The woman smiles gently, her eyes crinkling. "Wendy."
"Wendy," Kurt repeats. He slips out of my grasp and grabs her bony, veiny hands. "Thank you. I've been openly gay my entire life, and I've always been mocked and harassed for it; glared at by adults, scorned by peers. But you… you break the mold, and I can't thank you enough for that. I think I really needed to hear that."
"Oh, my dear," she says softly, warmly, like a surrogate grand mother. She squeezes Kurt's hands, the tendons visibly moving under the skin of the back of her hands. "I know some people might have told you otherwise, but there are plenty of people out there who are the opposite of the sort you grew up with." Sniffling, Kurt nods, and the man leads Wendy away. She waves, wishing us well. She says just before she's out of earshot, "Besides, I can tell that you're in very good hands! Stick with that young man, deary!"
Kurt laughs with relief before turning to look at me, his eyes smiling. "I can tell. What she said touched you, too. You just aren't showing it."
It's true. "Yeah," I agree quietly. "I only hope that all we hear tonight is that one positive thing and nothing negative. I don't think I could control myself."
Kurt shakes his head 'no.' "I have a feeling that the people here, since they appreciate creativity, will be too polite to say anything hurtful to our faces. And as long as we don't hear them talking amongst themselves, I'm happy to imagine that no one is saying anything."
"For all we know, no one is saying anything," I shrug, trying to keep his cheerful mood. I give him a smile of my own. "Anyway, it's getting late. Let's go home."
"Definitely," my boy replies, his tears dried now.
And things are really looking up. I have a good feeling about the future, now, if only because of that little old lady, Wendy, and how happy she made Kurt feel.