Dear readers,
I'm very much in love with you all.
Yours faithfully,
Me.
That's basically all of my feelings in a nutshell. I'm eternally grateful to all of you, because WE PASSED 500 FREAKING REVIEWS. I'm a glass case of emotion, which is highly unattractive but so worth it!
I'm about to die of a cold, so I'll make this a quick author's note. This chapter was beta'd by the beautiful Nija Assasian, who I will never stop running out of positive adjectives for. All of her hard work is indispensable, so I'm hugely grateful.
Thank you so much to all of my wonderful reviewers and to everyone who reads this. You're all amazing, and if you ever change I will hunt you down (in a nice way.) Thank you so much for reading this fic and reviewing. Please keep the reviews coming, each and every one of them makes my day!
That being said, please don't hate me for this chapter...
Chapter twenty five
Kurt Hummel liked New York.
Correction, Kurt Hummel loved New York. It was buzzing, alive, oozing life and energy and laughter. It was everything he'd imagined and more. He could have sat for hours and endlessly counted all of the millions of reasons why he loved New York. But that was something that he was short of in this dream destination – time.
Everything was rushed, moving, pulsing and you couldn't think twice; you just did, there was no consideration or deliberation. Everything was in the moment, improvisation, off the bat, on the ball. Kurt, being from a town where everything was second guessed, had long since decided that trying to explain the concept of waiting to a New Yorker would have been in vain.
And with this in mind, he hurried along the sidewalk in a bustle of activity. He looked around him as he walked – something he'd noticed himself doing from the moment he'd arrived – trying to take in every inch of life that New York had to offer. He was rarely disappointed.
Kurt stopped abruptly, however, when a familiar name flashed in front of him. The Lima Bean. Lima? Kurt frowned. He was fairly sure that this was New York. He glanced around, wondering if any other passer-by had noticed this, clearly, very confused café.
He shook his head as everyone else just rushed past him, talking into phones or at each other. He shrugged. He couldn't not go inside, what with this place boasting to be from the same place as him.
He pushed the door open and walked inside, looking about him as he did so. There had been a Lima Bean in his hometown, he was sure of it, though he'd never taken the time to actually go to it. He approached the counter, glancing up at the display of offers before looking at the barista.
"A non-fat mocha, please," he ordered, smiling at her.
She grinned back. "Certainly, sir," she said, "drink in or take away?"
Kurt considered this. Blaine was collecting the necessary books for his course from the local bookshop and wouldn't be back for hours. He shrugged. It made perfect sense to stay.
"Drink in, please," he told her. She nodded, ringing up his order. "That'll be $3.50," she replied and Kurt pulled out his wallet, placing a $5 bill in her hand. "Keep the change," he instructed, winking at her.
She blushed, putting the money in the till.
Kurt leant across the counter closer to her, curiosity getting the better of him. "Unless I've mistakenly crossed a few state lines," he started, "aren't we in New York? Why is this place called The Lima Bean?"
The barista smiled at him. "We get that a lot," she explained, "this place actually originated there; the chain has just spread a lot since then."
"Oh, I'm from Lima!" Kurt told her, beaming.
His beam dispersed, however, when a voice came from behind him. "No one cares, fag," someone muttered and Kurt whipped round at the sound. He hadn't heard that derogatory term in years, and he certainly wasn't going to take it from someone who didn't even have the courage to say it to his face.
Two males, who couldn't have been much older than Kurt, though by definition were men as opposed to boys, stood behind him, sneering. He eyed them. "Did you say something, gentlemen?" He asked, the picture of innocence.
"No, no," one man spoke up, clearly the lesser of the two evils.
"Great," Kurt smiled at them before turning back to the barista.
"I'm sorry for that," she said, wincing as she put his drink together.
"No need to apologise," he assured her, "I've heard much worse in my time. Like I said, I'm from Lima, and it doesn't get much less accepting than that."
"So I've heard," she agreed, "well, you're here now."
Kurt beamed, "Exactly."
The barista returned the smile, handing him his drink with a flourish. "There you go, sir."
"Thank you," he gave her a parting wave before slipping away from the counter to sit at a table. He did so in a small booth by the window, gazing out at the stretch of street that lay outside. People watching had always been a hobby of his, and he was realising that New York was a prime spot to do so.
He sat in peace for a good half hour before things turned sour. It started with the uttering, which turned into jeering, which turned into looks and soon enough, the two men, who were sat nearby, were voicing their opinion on Kurt loud enough for the whole café to hear.
Kurt tried to compose himself, blocking out the voices and focusing on his coffee, taking a long sip before he heard that one word.
"Fag."
He slammed his palms down on the table, rising from his seat and stalking across the café. He came to halt in front of their table, swinging the chair round of the one who was facing the other way. He pressed his face close to the man's own, snarling.
"What did you say?" He growled, grabbing a fistful of the guy's shirt and pulling him up, out of his seat.
"You heard, faggot," the man jeered, looking round to his friend for encouragement, but the other man had run, the door of the café swinging closed behind him.
"Not so brave when you're on your own, are you?" Kurt snarled.
The guy pushed him away before advancing on him. "I think you'll find you're the precious one, not me."
"I'm not too precious to shove my fist down your throat," Kurt threatened, stepping closer to the man but the barista had rushed over and tried to separate them.
"I'm going to need to ask you to leave," she instructed, grabbing the two of them by the collars and dragging them out of the café. She pushed them out of the door, eyes silently pleading with Kurt not to be angry and hoping he understood that what she had done was staff policy rather than her own personal preference. The door closed with a snap and he whipped around to face the man.
Kurt advanced on him. "Well, now that we're alone."
"Get away from me, fairy," the man snarled, shoving Kurt against the nearest wall.
"You started this, you bastard!" Kurt retorted, pushing away from the wall and towards him.
And that was when the man pulled his fist back and hit Kurt in the face. He stumbled, shocked, falling back against the wall. He clutched a hand to his eye, which was already swelling, before letting out a low snarl and moving in on the man. His fist connected with the man's stomach and he toppled backwards. Kurt curled his fist a handful of his tormentor's shirt to stop him falling.
"Quit while you're ahead," he advised.
"Never," the man growled, lurching at Kurt and punching him again. Kurt fell backwards onto the ground and the man followed him, throwing punches wherever he could. Kurt gave as good as he got, ramming his knee into the man's crotch and smirking as he screamed, clutching himself.
Kurt made to move away but the man grabbed his shirt and tugged him backwards, scrambling on top of him and throwing another punch. Kurt turned the tables, rolling on top of the man and hitting him. They continued in this practise for a long while. The man hit Kurt with another punch that nearly knocked him out and he rolled back, sprawled on his back across the pavement, but the man wouldn't give up, falling onto Kurt and clutching him around the neck, strong grasp nearly choking him. He was vaguely aware of strangers grabbing at him and the faraway sounds of a siren.
He sat bolt upright, suddenly brought into consciousness at the thought of what was coming. The police. He could be arrested. He couldn't be arrested. The man seemed to share the same sentiment and they scrambled apart, Kurt trying to stand but he yelped as his leg gave way beneath him. A stranger reached out and wrapped an arm around him, supporting his weight as Kurt tried to push past him and out of the crowd.
"It's alright, son," the stranger told him. He was a middle-aged man with a friendly face that was made only friendlier when he smiled at Kurt. He resisted the urge to cry. In Lima, he was beaten up weekly because of his sexuality, but here he had absolute strangers willing to help him. The sentiment was almost too much. He was vaguely aware of the fact that the man was still talking. "It wasn't a fair fight, he was on you; the police won't charge you. I'm a witness, I saw what happened, it was all him. You'll be OK."
Kurt mustered up a smile and nodding his understanding, trying to convey his thanks. He struggled for words, throat tight from where the man's hands had been. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely there.
"He strangled you, boy," the stranger said, frowning, "there's nothing to thank me for. I'm just doing my bit. It was a targeted attack, I'm not just going to sit back and watch that happen."
"It was because I'm gay," Kurt whispered, his voice strained.
"That only makes it worse," the man insisted.
Kurt suddenly became aware of the fact that a group of bystanders had crowded round, all eyeing him in concern. "Are you alright?" One woman spoke up and the rest of the group murmured similar questions, some reaching out to touch him on the shoulder.
Kurt just nodded, unable to find words. He'd never had this, he'd never had support. It was overwhelming.
"Those homophobes are the runts of society," one woman assured him, "I'm so sorry that he did that to you, love."
Kurt nodded again, unsure of what to say. A police car suddenly pulled up next to them on the sidewalk and an officer stepped out, clad in NYPD uniform. Flanked by her male colleague, she made her way over to Kurt and his tormentor. She grabbed Kurt, wrenching him away from the man who had been comforting him and handcuffed him in one, swift motion.
"If you'd like to come with us, sir," she said in a tone that implied that he didn't really have a choice.
Kurt just bowed his head and allowed himself to be led away, his attacker in tow.
TBC...
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