Happy New Year, dear readers! I hope 2014 will be a magical year for all of you!
I've had a busy holiday, but finally everyday routine seems to be back, and I can devote more time for fanfic and Glee again. Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews and feedback I get for this story, I'm so happy for all the reviews, followers and favourites I get for this piece!
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or anything you might recognize.
When Kurt returns to the apartment he shares with the two girls, he's honestly flabbergasted by the effect of the few additions made. Santana has been truly busy while he was away. He glances at his phone, and realizes he was gone for almost an entire hour. No wonder the apartment looks transformed.
Their heavy door is already difficult to open, and squeaks in objection. It's the perfect haunted entrance for a Halloween party. But apparently it wasn't enough for Santana, who's added blood red finger trails down it's entire length. As Kurt walks through the door opening, a spray of something hits him from both left and right, but he isn't able to see anything on his clothes, no matter how meticulously he checks.
"There you are!" Brittany beams, and takes his arms to skip around in a happy spin, not even letting him put down the shopping bags.
"You look beautiful," he says and hugs her carefully to avoid knocking her in the head, and then heads for the kitchen with the purchases he made for Santana. She goes through the bags, muttering something in Spanish about some of his choices, and he just rolls his eyes. Rachel hands him a glass of red wine, and he sips at it while he takes in the decorated apartment.
The ceiling is draped loosely in fake spider web, and a huge raven is hanging from their lamp. She's tacked plastic spiders on one of the walls, marching together in the same direction, and their apartment is glowing in a warm, flickering light from the dozens of orange candles she's lit on every available surface. The snack table is protected by a full-size plastic skeleton chaperon, which for some reason is wearing a bright pink tutu. Kurt suspects it's Brittany's touch.
The three of them spent last night preparing the snacks. Regular potato chips and assorted candy are served in plastic pumpkin buckets which kids use when they go trick or treating. But they also have season-appropriate themed snacks. Kurt made biscuits that look like fingers, with almonds for finger nails. Santana rolled and coloured marzipan to the shape of eyeballs. Rachel made spiders of oreo cookies and pretzel sticks for legs. Santana then disappeared to her room, snickering, with a bag of clinking bottles, and the result is now presented on the snack table. She's made a really gross-looking punch, with all kinds of oddly shaped candy floating in it. And then there are what must be shots in sets of test tube vials. While Santana prepared the bar, Kurt made mummy-dogs; tiny hot dogs wrapped in stripes of dough to make it look like a mummy. Rachel's second contribution was oranges, where she drew all kinds of facial expressions on them with a black marker.
"Okay divas, let's crank up the music and show Bushwick how to party!"
"They still remember the last party you threw," Rachel sights, "and not fondly."
"Jealousy doesn't look good on anyone, not even if they are already green" Santana shrugs.
She turns off most of their lamps, and lights a few which Kurt hadn't noticed were turned off. And now he discovers that she's replaced the usual light bulbs with black light. The drinks in the test tubes are glowing, and so are some weird spray patterns on the girls' clothes.
"What's that supposed to be?" he asks, pointing at a concentrated spot on Rachel's clothes.
"It's fun," Santana interjects in explanation. "And you've got it too."
Kurt looks at his clothes, and she's right.
"Is that what happened when I entered the door?"
"Yup. The censor sprays anyone who gets too close."
"Why?"
"Are you really asking me to explain the technicalities, Hummel?"
"No, I wonder why you put it up."
"Why do I ever do the things I do?" she smirks, and saunters over to the speakers, fidgeting with Rachel's laptop and a playlist.
"Only God knows, and she's too scared to think closely about it" Kurt sighs, and drains his wine glass.
"Where's your dolphin, Kurt?"
"He's still working, Britt, so he won't be here until later."
"Well, then Santana will have to share me with you. I'm almost a fairy tonight, and Santana says you're into fairies."
"Off with their heads!" Santana yells, and the room is filled with loud music and familiar voices.
"Do you have every performance we ever did with New Directions?" Kurt asks Rachel.
"It comes in handy at the most unsuspected occasions," she says, and skips over to Santana to see what she remembers of their old choreography.
Not long after, their first guests arrive, in more or less creative costumes. They had fought over the theme for quite a while, because both Santana and Rachel were adamant on which costumes to wear. So how do you combine Wicked and Lord of the Rings? The compromise had been On stage or on screen. Kurt had hoped for something more specific to narrow things down, but then the comment from Kevin about Halloween being childish had made Kurt's costume choice blatantly obvious. Peter Pan it was.
Their apartment is filled with a mix of friends, acquaintances and strangers as far as Kurt sees it. It's not easy to navigate in the crowd, and not much of the floor is unoccupied. He assumes Santana and/or Rachel know them. He's downed two of Santana's test tube-shots, and as expected, they are strong. That's why he's taking it slower with a glass of gross-looking punch, while standing in a corner and silently judging the costumes. One boy is covered in cereal boxes with knife wounds and red fake blood. Serial killer. How clever. As expected, there are a lot of Broadway costumes among Rachel's friends, while Santana's friends are a balanced mix of Broadway and Hollywood. Not many of Kurt's classmates are here, and he thinks it's because they were invited to parties closer to Manhattan. But his usual study group is here, and they have obviously taken their time preparing the handmade costumes.
Kevin texted him forty minutes ago, telling him he was on his way, and Kurt is getting impatient. He wants his… plus one to be there, so he has someone to dance with, someone who will enjoy all the comments he's stored up for the crappy costumes, and someone who maybe will want to come with Kurt to his room to make out for a while.
Brittany has managed to pull him out on the appointed dance floor, when he notices him. He waves at Kevin, who nods at him, and strides directly for a drink.
"Go get him," Brittany smiles, pushing him gently in the right direction. It doesn't take long for someone else to snag Brittany for a dance, so Kurt doesn't feel guilty for abandoning her. Not that she's ever been much of a wall flower. But still. Kurt's a gentleman, even to bicurious girls.
"I'm glad you're finally here," Kurt says sweetly and slides up next to Kevin.
"Hey Babe," Kevin greets, giving him a quick kiss on his cheek. Kurt smiles, even though he hates being called Babe.
"You can use my room to change into costume," Kurt offers, knowing Kevin comes straight from work.
"Oh no, that's okay, I'm already dressed."
"You are?" Kurt takes a step back to take in Kevin, and Kevin gives him a spin. When Kurt doesn't react, he tugs at something around his neck which Kurt didn't see at first glance. It's a scarf made of tiny paper colour samples from a paint shop. They're all in greys. "What are you?"
"Fifty Shades of Grey!" Kevin grins proudly.
"Seriously?"
"It's clever," Kevin insists.
"No, it's lazy for a fashion designer who works with costumes. And you're no more than 27 shades at the most," Kurt argues, after a rough counting.
"Come on, Kurt," Kevin whispers, stepping closer to keep the conversation private. "You know I think Halloween is childish. Let's get drunk, but not too drunk, because I don't have morning classes tomorrow, and brought an overnight bag," he winks.
"You're welcome to sleep on the couch," Kurt says, not too kindly. They haven't reached further than some heavy making out in Kevin's sewing corner in the theatre so far, and Kurt doesn't feel in the mood to change that today. Being called childish is so not his kind of foreplay.
"I just don't understand why you couldn't wear a proper costume for me," Kurt mutters.
"Kurt, I work with clothes and fittings and sewing and adjustments all day. It would be nice to have a night of fun and no business."
"I'm sorry," Kurt mumbles, studying the tips of his shoes. "It's just important to me. I work with the same things as you do, and I had fun preparing this," he mutters, tugging at his tunic.
"We have to grow up some time, you know, Babe, especially after graduation."
"Not I," Kurt says teasingly, looking pointedly at him.
"Even you. Now come on, Robin Hood, let's dance."
Santana's drinks taste delicious, and it's fun to drink something that glows in the dark. Kurt thinks maybe he's nuclear. Or maybe Peter Pan's moon is illuminating through him. His skin is so pale, it's a wonder it isn't reacting to the light bulbs. He swallows eagerly of his wine, and sways slowly to the music. He should probably move faster, considering it is AC/DC playing, but his feet aches.
"Where is Kevin?" Rachel asks, wrapping her arms around him from behind, swaying with him. "Look, I'm your shadow!" she then squeals into his right ear.
"I don't know where he is," Kurt mumbles, leaning into Rachel. She's a good friend. She understands that he's Peter Pan, and that Peter Pan needs his shadow. But Rachel isn't his shadow. "Did you know that Blaine works until 5 AM?" he muses loud enough for her to hear.
"I didn't!" she exclaims scandalized. "Who is Blaine?" she then adds confused.
"He's my true shadow."
"But you have to be with your true shadow," Rachel insists, and Kurt giggles.
"Maybe I should find my needle kit, so I can sew him back on," he snorts, and imagines having a class at Parsons which teaches you to sew humans together. How ridiculous. You can't just sew people together, leaving them stuck with each other, without making sure it's okay.
"Do you think Kevin would mind?" Rachel asks, and wow, is she reading his mind or something? Of course Kevin would mind if Kurt sew Blaine to him permanently. He would, wouldn't he?
"I don't know," Kurt shakes his head sadly. "I should go ask him."
"You do that," Rachel agrees, and pushes him so hard he almost stumbles, some of his wine sloshing over the rim.
He looks in every corner and hiding place of the apartment, until he finds Kevin sitting on Santana's bed, talking with some of Brittany's dance friends. They seem to be discussing the latest program of So You Think You Can Dance.
"I'm not much of a dancer," Kevin admits, "but I enjoy watching, and am easily impressed by the participants."
Kurt snorts, because he has quite a few sore toes that can testify to that. Kevin doesn't know how to move his feet at all. Pity, Kurt loves to dance, and back in Lima he'd daydream about one day meeting a boy bold enough to be with him and dance with him.
"Hi," Kurt waves awkwardly when they look in his direction by the sound of his audible outburst.
"Oh look, it's the Hulk!" Kevin greets him.
"No, I'm… Never mind," Kurt slurs. "Do you mind if I visit my shadow?"
"Are you drunk, Kurt?"
"I think so."
"That makes sense. By all means, go visit your shadow," Kevin laughs.
Twenty minutes later, Kurt stops abruptly in the doorway, and giggles loudly. Blaine was dancing with a broom, but looked up when the cow bell signalled Kurt's arrival.
"Hello Peter," he smiles, "how may I help you?"
"I lost my shadow," Kurt gestures dramatically, almost upending the pumpkin bucket with snacks he brought for Blaine.
"Aww, I'm so sorry to hear that," Blaine coos. He leans the broom against the shelf with toiletries, and walks over to Kurt. "You should look for him."
"Excellent idea," Kurt nods, and starts walking down the aisles. Blaine follows him, barely two feet behind. In front of the yoghurts, Kurt turns his head and winks exaggeratedly at him, before leading him back to the counter.
"Thank you. I've had several identity crises tonight. Can you believe someone called me Yoda or The Grinch?"
"Shame on them," Blaine smiles at him, leaning against the counter. "So, what's with the bucket? Are you out trick or treating? Because if you are, I'll have to say trick. I don't think Mr. Parker would be too happy if I gave away candy from his shelves, and I don't have any more with an expired date to offer you."
"It's for you, dummy," Kurt giggles, shoving the bucket closer to Blaine. "It's not fair that you have to work on Halloween, so I'm bringing the party to you. Besides, you already gave me chocolate, so now it's my turn."
"Is that so?" Blaine smiles curiously, leaning a tad closer.
"Yes," Kurt nods eagerly, bending further over the counter, shoving the bucket in front of him, both of them closer to Blaine. "Satan made these awesome shots, but I was afraid of spilling them on my way here, and that would make such a mess, and I didn't know how I'd bring soap and a rag just in case, and…"
"It's okay, Kurt," Blaine says, placing a comforting hand on top of his, "I shouldn't drink while I'm working anyway."
"Ooh," Kurt hums. "I didn't think about that. I'm so stupid."
"You're not stupid," Blaine squeezes his hand comfortingly. "It looks as if you're having a great party. And it's very sweet of you to think about me at…" Blaine takes a moment to check a pocket watch, "almost 3 in the morning."
"Of course I do. You're my shadow!" Kurt beams.
"Well, I'm honoured. Did you make any of this?" he asks, looking at the content of the smaller sized bucket.
"I made piano fingers," Kurt wiggles his fingers.
Blaine picks one up from the bucket, and bites off the first knuckle.
"Mmm, delicious," he grins, wiggling his eyebrows.
"I should go back to the party. I hear it's considered poor hostage to leave your own party before the guests," Kurt sighs.
"I don't think it's called hostage in that setting, Kurt," Blaine grins.
"But you understand me, because you're my shadow."
"That's true. Is it safe for you to walk back alone, though?"
"Captain Hook isn't here, Blaine, he's in Neverland," Kurt deadpans, wide-eyed. "I'm safe as long as I don't fuck up the elevator."
"Well, then I suggest you don't fuck up the elevator," Blaine laughs.
"That's a really good advice, Blaine. You're intelligent," Kurt says seriously.
"Can I give you one more advice, Kurt?" Kurt nods, so Blaine continues. "Promise me you'll drink two big glasses of water when you get back home?"
"I'll try," Kurt swears solemnly.
"Wait, I have a better idea," Blaine interjects, and jogs over to the fridge. "Here, drink this bottle on your way home, okay?"
"I didn't bring any money," Kurt says sadly.
"It's a gift," Blaine assures him, "as a thank you for the snacks."
"That's so sweet of you," Kurt takes a large gulp of the water. "I'm drinking for you, Blaine. For you and for eternal youth."