A/N: Welcome back and happy Wednesday! Quick disclaimer: I am not a dancer, no matter how much I wish I was. I just have a love for ballet, so please don't judge me on the use of terms here, I'm doing my best lol. We're doing some more set up in this chapter, meeting some more townies and one very special townie ;) I want to give a real quick shout out to Dianne who has been reading and leaving reviews on my last story and now this one. Thank you so much Dianne :) I hope you guys like the chapter! Enjoy!
Chapter 2
Settling into a routine in Cassville had been surprisingly easier than Kurt had anticipated. And that made him feel...well, it made him feel some type of way. This routine made him crave his old life in New York. The life he had trained tirelessly for. The life he missed and craved. The life that he feared was moving on without him.
However, Kurt had to admit that this new routine helped him feel a little less lost. Routine was something Kurt cherished and thrived on.
In New York, every day had been the same. Kurt would wake at 6 am. He had drank a large glass of water, first thing, scrambled up two eggs, a slice of toast with some avocado on it and a steaming hot cup of coffee. After breakfast he would lay out his yoga mat in the small living room of his one bedroom apartment and would do about 30 minutes of stretching, trying to loosen up his hip flexors or any other tight muscles from rehearsal the day prior. He would foam roll, tidying up, take a shower and be out the door by 9 am.
He would stop at his favorite bagel shop on the corner. He would get his usual: an everything bagel with cream cheese and a few slices of smoked salmon and maybe some avocado, depending on his mood. Perfect for his lunch in a few hours.
He would reach the dance studio of the New York Ballet Company a little while before rehearsal began at 10 and spend his time stretching. He would chat with his fellow dancers pleasantly and then they would go into an hour and a half of class, followed by about 7 hours of rehearsal for their next show.
And every night, he would stumble home, exhausted and content, to his empty apartment, where he'd cook up something fast and usually take a long bath, willing the warm water to sooth his aching body. He'd fall into bed, always a little cold, but ready for another day.
It had been grueling and lovely and structured and it made Kurt feel organized. In control. Something he desperately needed to feel right now.
So even though his new routine was immeasurably simpler and consisted of waking up, going to the dance studio and going home, he would take what he could get this summer.
He'd spent the rest of the weekend getting unpacked at Darla's and catching up with his much loved aunt. She was doting and generous and Kurt was actually looking forward to getting to know her better as an adult. Since his legs had been cooperating lately, he and Darla would go on late walks, as the sun was setting a little after 9 pm. By then, the heat was more dark and soggy, like a wet blanket that covered everything, opposed to the scorching, piercing heat of day. The sun was relentless here in Arkansas, even as it filtered through the mature trees that lined their edge of Main Street.
Darla kept poking fun at Kurt, "Oh you're such a city boy! Soon, you'll forget all about the heat. It just becomes a part of life." She'd say. But Kurt just couldn't see that becoming a reality for him. He wasn't even sure if he wanted the ability to forget about the heat. This location was temporary for him; what if in turn, he'd forget how to handle the cold? He'd be screwed next winter in New York. As far as he was concerned, he'd just continue to moan and groan his way through the next 12 weeks, thank you very much.
Monday, Kurt had called the physical therapy office and drove 30 minutes out to a slightly larger town named Benton. There, he was able to tour the facility and set up recurring appointments for Mondays and Thursdays that would start the following week. As eager as Kurt was to get started, he knew that things would most likely get worse before they got better. He could see, just from his brief tour, people doing simple exercises-lifting one leg at a time, squeezing a ball-and grimacing in pain the whole time. But pain for a purpose? Hadn't that been his entire dance training? He could handle this. He had to.
He'd also been able to contact his referral doctor and make sure that he had all of Kurt's files transferred from New York. The doctor - Dr. Hill - assured him that they did and would be in touch soon to see how his progress with physical therapy was going.
All in all, Kurt's Monday excursion to Benton had been very fruitful and his legs had cooperated all day. It was almost frustrating, as he called a doctor and set up P.T. when he felt undeniably fine and able bodied. But knowing, deep down, that he wasn't. Not always at least.
Tuesday had been Kurt's first real day at the Dance School. He was to shadow all of Darla's younger classes, the ones he would be taking over for the summer, to see where they were at and what Darla wanted them to be learning next.
He had exited Darla's car, walking alongside his aunt to the front door when she'd stopped, dead in her tracks, placing a hand on his chest. He stopped, looking at her with concern only to see a wolfish smile spread slowly across her lips. "Oh...the dance moms are going to love you."
Brow furrowed and fighting the urge to roll his eyes at Darla's dramatics, Kurt replied, "Oh? And why is that?"
Darla just laughed, "Darlin', do yourself a favor and look in a mirror once in a while. You're gorgeous and these moms like them some fresh meat." She waggled her eyebrows in a ridiculous way that made Kurt snort.
She just shook her head and patted his arm, "Don't say I didn't warn you…"
They entered the school and quickly, the first kids started to filter in for the youngest class. Kids no older than 3 came rushing through the lobby, around the front desk and behind, to one of two studio rooms. Little girls in bright pink tutus crashed into Darla's knees, hugging them and screaming hello. Little boys came stomping in, yawning and sleepy at 9 am on a lazy summer morning.
The lobby was sizeable and had chairs on both the right and left sides, cheap plastic ones that couldn't be terribly comfortable to sit in for long periods of time. Each side had a coffee table with generic magazines scattered on top but an aisle of sorts was left clear from the front door to the "front desk" which was really at the back of the lobby and jutted out strangely from the left wall. A wooden stool sat behind it that one could perch on, like a bird but not much else. There was an old desktop computer that Darla desperately needed to update and a phone with a cord. And that was about it. As the front desk was situated on the left side of the lobby, the right side was left open to allow access to the two doorways leading directly into the lesson rooms. The only thing not directly attached to the lobby were the bathrooms, which were down a short hallway that branched off the right side of the lobby. That was it. It wasn't a small place necessarily, but when half the town seemed to be spending a portion of their day there, it was packed to the gills from open to close.
It was quite the frenzy of activity and Kurt was honestly a little overwhelmed at how quickly the lobby filled with parents, mom's mostly. They all chatted animatedly, southern accents thick in the air. Some pulled books out of their huge tote bags while others settled back in their chairs with nail files. Everyone seemed familiar, like they'd been doing this forever with the same group present every week.
Kurt was standing, only a tad awkwardly behind the front desk, unsure of what he should do before class started when he saw a flash of bright blonde hair out of the corner of his eye. He looked up to see a young, attractive mother with the longest hot pink acrylic nails he'd possibly ever seen, smiling at him, batting her eyes a little too much. Kurt smiled back, not wanting to be rude.
"Well hi there, sugar," she drawled, accent thick and heavy. "I don't believe we've properly been introduced. I'm Beverly but everyone calls me Bev." She held out a hand as if she expected him to kiss it.
"Kurt Hummel, I'm Darla's nephew," he supplied, taking her hand awkwardly and shaking it. He saw her smile widen like a shark's.
"Oh we know, and on behalf of all of us dance moms here, we'd like to welcome you to our little dance family."
Sure enough, Kurt looked past Bev and saw some of the other mom's glancing in what they probably believed to be a highly discreet manner. Bev appeared to be the talking head for this group, if he was reading things correctly.
"Thank you," Kurt smiled, hoping it looked genuine and not terrified. He had the oddest thought that they enjoyed making him uncomfortable with their leering.
"No, no, thank you." Bev cooed, leaning her elbow on the front desk and resting her chin in her hand. "Darla really needed the help around here and we hear that you're some big shot New York City dancer, is that right?"
Kurt cringed a little internally, not just at her blatant attempt at flirting but also at how much he didn't feel like some big shot New York City dancer right now.
"Well, I don't know about big shot, but I am a professional ballet dancer. That part is true." Kurt answered carefully.
Bev looked him up and down appreciatively and nodded, "And you got the body to prove it." He heard some of the other moms behind her break into hoots and hollars of laughter as Kurt blushed right up to his roots.
"Kurt! Class is starting!" Darla called from the room behind him.
Kurt was at her side, door to the studio closed in 2 seconds flat, but Darla still saw the cackling moms and Kurt's bright red face. She smiled knowingly and whispered, "They're harmless."
"They're hyenas." He hissed, feeling his coloring slowly return to normal.
Darla just giggled and turned to the class.
The youngest classes, filled with toddlers, was more an exercise in patience and herding than anything else. But the kids were so cute and so well intentioned that Kurt found himself laughing for the entire hour. Some kids really seemed to try. They tried so hard, unaware that their little limbs hadn't really learned coordination and Kurt knew that would be the main focus of this class. Other kids seemed to be there for purely social reasons, but it was still entertaining enough to make the hour pass by in a flash.
At 10 am, the little ones migrated back out to the lobby, where their mom's put away their romance novels and grabbed little hands, leading them out of the school. Some shot Kurt little winks as they wiggled their fingers goodbye in what he supposed was a delicate manner.
As they were leaving, the next class was arriving, no break, not even a second to catch your breath, and then he was faced with a group of 6 and 7 year olds. They were very well behaved and Kurt could see the beginnings of some incredibly intense kids. Kids who, even at their young age, took this class very seriously. He couldn't help but remember how he'd been one of those kids and how far it had actually taken him. He wondered if any of these kids also dreamed of leaving this little town someday.
They worked through first position, second position, third position, etc. tirelessly, trying to engrain it into their little malleable brains. They did plies obsessively and talked of posture. Darla would go around the room, pulling shoulders back and gently tipping chins up. Kurt understood why Darla called this class The Basics.
At eleven, that class ended and Kurt assumed they'd be taking a quick lunch break, but no, no, no, Darla hadn't built any of that nonsense into her completely break neck paced schedule. No, he found the lobby once again in an absolute whirlpool of families coming and going. Every class change was like a mini town reunion. The parents would stop for a quick chat, invitations to barbecues were thrown out, conversations about who's turn it was to take the kids swimming and promises of phone calls made. Kurt wondered how many of these parents went to school together, grew up together, in this very town.
The noon class was kids from about 8 years old to 10 years old and the last class Kurt would be taking over for Darla. At this level, the kids were really starting to gain some skill and Kurt was pleasantly surprised to see that he may actually be doing some real dancing in this class. He was also surprised to see Darla, standing at the head of the class, eating a baked sweet potato like an apple.
Wordlessly, Kurt quirked an eyebrow at her, eyes shooting between her and the sweet potato. "You know, most people take a little break for lunch. It's called-get this- a lunch break." He said it as if he was explaining it to one of the 3 year old students from this morning.
Darla just laughed around a mouthful and swallowed, "This is why I need you here, darlin'. I simply don't have time."
"You're the boss; make time." Kurt said.
Darla just rolled her eyes and nudged him with her elbow, "Then I wouldn't have time for all these wonderful kids, now would I?" She gestured to the packed room. Kids were milling about talking, some even stretching of their own volition, getting ready for class. Some girls were trying to get up on pointe, some boys joining in. It made Kurt ache in a way he didn't understand.
So Kurt watched as Darla, still chomping away on her dry, baked sweet potato, called the class to order. They started with the basics and then moved into what was basically a vocab lesson. Ballet had a lot of terms and it was important to learn them young so you could follow instruction in class down the road. Sometimes, Darla would call out a movement and the kids would need to complete it.
"Degage!" Darla would call excitedly and the kids would clamber to lift their leg.
"Good, good! Now what does that mean?" Darla would ask, and in near unison the kids would reply, "To disengage!" And Darla would beam at them and shower them with praise.
Other times, Darla would do the reverse; she'd complete a movement and the kids would need to shout out the name of what she was doing. It was here that Kurt really got to see the elegance of Darla's abilities. He had seen her dance a little and had even danced with her before, but it had never been in a very serious fashion, it was mostly for fun. But even in her early 50s, she was living proof that living a healthy lifestyle kept you young. Kurt couldn't help it if he resented her ability to be twice his age with a spine that wasn't herniated.
She was beautiful, strong and fluid in her movements. Her frizzy, wavy hair was pulled back in a huge bun but fly aways framed her face as per usual. Her long, lean legs stretched on forever in her tight black leggings.
At noon, class finally ended and with that, Kurt's official shadowing was complete. He would take over tomorrow and for the rest of the week, Darla would shadow him, being there more as a support system as he learned the kids names and eccentricities, making sure he was pointing the curriculum where Darla needed it to go.
Seeing as how Kurt had no life though, no obligations until physical therapy on Thursday and no clue how one spent their time in this little corner of the world, Kurt stuck around to watch Darla's older classes, curious as to what sort of talent lay hidden in small town America.
But as the kids got older and older, class by class Kurt began to feel a sadness enveloping him. A longing for what he'd lost. A youth that he should have been wallowing in at 25 but that now felt so fucking far away. He watched these highschoolers, some coming from neighboring towns to train with Darla, work through dizzying chains of pique menages or do daring arabesques and he felt as though he didn't belong. He felt like he was looking in on something he was no longer a part of.
And if he didn't have dance, then what did he have? What was he a part of?
He watched the class blankly, trying to appreciate their talent and drive and so immensely proud of how beloved his aunt was, but he couldn't keep from feeling a little hollow. Like someone had taken a melon baller to his soul and scooped it straight out.
By the time classes ended at 5 Kurt was physically and mentally exhausted. He'd spent most of his day on his feet on hard, wood floors and he was beginning to feel pinpricks of pain shoot subtly down his legs. He knew if he acted soon, he'd be able to stave off the worsening side effects, so he rushed through their closing chores: straightening up the lobby, taking out the trash, mopping the dance room floors and wiping down any smudgy fingerprints left on the mirrors by the younger kids.
Darla drove them home and Kurt quickly excused himself to his room, wanting to wash the ever present film of sweat off of his skin. He showered quickly, wishing he had the time for a bath, and put on a t-shirt and some khaki shorts, crisp, clean and classic. He wasn't sure he'd be able to wear many of his skinny jeans this summer, not unless he wanted to die of heat stroke. He wasn't sure he'd really be wearing much of his designer wardrobe this summer. As disheartening as that was, it was probably for the best; he'd save a small fortune on dry cleaning this summer.
Kurt took a few indulgent minutes to stretch out on his bedroom floor. There really was quite a lot of it, as the room only had a large queen bed, matching nightstands and dresser occupying it. The rest was a large expanse of open space that Kurt planned to make great use of.
Eventually, feeling a little looser, a little more relaxed, Kurt padded down the stairs in his bare feet, feeling unbearably casual but knowing that any added layer would only be in vain.
He found Darla in the kitchen, staring into the fridge, contemplating. She looked up as he entered the bright room and smiled softly at him. She too had showered and changed into a simple cornflower blue cotton dress, her feet also bare.
"What sounds good for dinner, darlin'?" She asked, looking back into the open fridge.
"Anything cold," Kurt joked, not really joking at all. He would rather starve than eat a steaming bowl of soup right now. "Maybe just a big salad? What do you have?"
He joined her at the fridge, savoring the cold air pouring out and started pulling out lettuce, cherry tomatoes and various veggies. Darla wordlessly grabbed a package of feta cheese and went over to the sizable pantry across the room and pulled out some ready made dressings.
As if they'd lived their whole lives together, they silently moved around one another, chopping vegetables and crafting huge salads.
When their masterpieces were finished, they crowded into the tiny kitchen table to eat, knees knocking occasionally under the table.
Darla smiled up through her lashes at Kurt, "This is nice, ya know, having you around. I like it."
Kurt smiled warmly back at her. It really was nice. Things were easy with Darla. Simple. Calm even. "I like it too," Kurt said. He reached across the table to squeeze one of her hands, before returning to his salad.
With dinner finished, Darla washed their bowls and Kurt dried. Handing the silverware over to Kurt, Darla mentioned, "Oh, before I forget, Thursday, I'm having Baby Blaine in to start work on the school's bathrooms; they're getting remodelled."
Kurt barked out a laugh, "Baby Blaine? What kind of name is that?"
Darla just rolled her eyes, "He's our local handyman and he's the best there is; he did this kitchen." She gestured around them at the impressive space, knowing how much Kurt had liked it on his initial tour. "But Kurt, you're missing the point! Bathroom renovation! Isn't that exciting?"
Kurt laughed, "As long as I get to help pick the fixtures, it is."
Darla let out a laugh, free and easy. "Well, I've already signed off on a plan with Baby Blaine, but you're the first person I'll call if we have a faucet emergency."
Kurt just snorted and smiled, wiping down the kitchen counters as Darla poured them huge glasses of iced tea before he followed Darla out towards the front porch. Why she enjoyed sitting out here when it was roughly the temperature of the sun was beyond him, but he enjoyed her company enough to go with it.
The glass instantly began to sweat as they settled into their rocking chairs.
"Well then, I'll need to see those plans," Kurt said and Darla just sighed but went and got them, all the same.
"So," Kurt said, setting the plans on the end table between them to look over later and taking a sip of tea and grimacing at the amount of sugar in it, "Baby Blaine? Either this is a literal child that you're giving power tools or it's a full grown man with a nickname. One I can imagine he probably doesn't like a whole lot."
Darla's eyes twinkled with amusement and...something else? She flashed her eyes over to Kurt, a little smile playing on her lips. "Astounding powers of deduction, darlin; he is indeed an adult. He's around your age actually. And come to think of it, I think the two of you might get on pretty well."
"Oh?" Kurt asked, not sure he trusted her little smile.
Darla just shrugged and took a sip of her drink. "Anyways, he'll be in on Thursday, so just a heads up."
And with that, Darla began asking Kurt about his thoughts on the school, the classes, the students, making Kurt forget all about her little smile and the curious twinkle in her eyes.
Wednesday had been about much fun as it was surprisingly difficult. Corralling the kids was the hardest part of the job, it seemed. And since it was going to take them all a little time to figure out that Kurt was the teacher now, not Darla, he was fighting an uphill battle in holding their attention. Their teeny tiny attention spans that didn't even really exist yet.
But for all of that, the kids weren't blatantly rude or disrespectful. Just curious. They had so many questions. Who are you? Where are you from? Where is New York? If you're Miss Darla's nephew, home come you don't look like Miss Darla? Some questions were easy and cute and some left Kurt with a blank stare, trying to figure out if it was a worthwhile use of time to explain family trees and genetics to a 5 year old.
Picking up the curriculum that Darla had created was the easiest part though; basically second nature for a professional dancer. He knew vocabulary and posture like the back of his hand.
After his three classes ended at noon, Kurt spent some time hanging around the front desk, poking through the schedule and familiarizing himself with his aunt's haphazard system, at her insistence. But the leering and suggestive smirks of the dance moms soon compelled Kurt to hightail it out of there and back to Darla's house.
It was odd being in the house alone. Every moment he'd been in Cassville so far had been with Darla. And maybe that wasn't even a full week yet, but still. It was strange to float around an artificially icy house, fans blowing in every corner of every room in a vain attempt to rid the place of the sticky, humid air that invaded everything. He felt alone and restless.
He found a pitcher of lemonade (Darla always had a pitcher of something) in the fridge and poured himself a glass before venturing out on the front porch, dreading the heat but preferring it to the icy silence of the empty house.
Soon though, the heat became too much for Kurt and he rose to go inside, only to find an intense, shooting pain radiating down the back of his legs. He stilled instantly, pulling in a ragged breath. What the hell? Kurt thought bitterly as he hobbled his way inside, I only stood for a few hours today! He observed the stairs with object horror. He knew he needed to climb up to his room, maybe lay down. Or take a bath in that giant soaker tub, yeah, that would be heavenly. But first, he'd need to get there. And Kurt just wasn't sure that was a skill set he currently held.
It took him close to 10 minutes to climb the damn thing, each step making him gasp in pain. Tears collected in the corners of his eyes but he refused to let them fall. He grit his teeth instead, and took another step.
By the time he made it to his room, he was thoroughly wrecked, but he managed to turn the bath on, strip and get inside.
The warm bath water felt exactly like the air outside the house, but more soothing and less gross. Kurt wondered what he would have done if this had happened when Darla was home. How could he have explained it to her? Would he have just sat on the front porch indefinitely until his legs finally gave up their silent torture tactics?
Kurt gulped, trying to relax into the water and forget just why he was here. In this bath. In this town. Everything. Just forget everything; the injury, the doctor's assurances that hurt more than the warnings, his secrets, his lies, his future, his present. Everything.
By the time Kurt woke the next day, he was feeling just fine. So fine that he was aggravated. Maybe it was stupid, but he almost wished that if he was going to hurt, he'd just hurt. Not this game of chicken his nerves were currently playing with him. This Russian Roulette of Can I Walk Today? It was maddening.
He knew his attitude was poor, so he kept his conversation with Darla to a minimum at breakfast, not wanting to accidentally snap at her. She didn't deserve that. And if she noticed anything was off with his silence, she didn't say anything and for that, he loved her even more.
He drove himself to the school, not wanting to chance having to walk home, since apparently, roughly three hours of standing had the ability to annihilate him.
He parked and took a few measured breaths. He needed to keep his frustration in check; he worked with kids now. He thought of how his dance school had always felt like a sanctuary to him when he was a kid and vowed to make sure he offered these kids the same courtesy he'd been shown.
He slapped a smile on his face and marched into the school, determined to make the best out of his day.
The astounding thing about working with kids, Kurt found, was that as his day wore on, his smile became easier and more automatic. Their innocence and happiness was contagious. Anna, one of the toddlers in the first class, ran up to Darla, hugged her knees and then did the same to Kurt, as if she'd been doing it her whole life. Lyle, a little boy in his second class finally, finally understood the difference between plie and grande plie and he beamed so proudly at Kurt, that he couldn't help but smile back, just as big.
By the time Kurt was packing up his small duffle bag to head home, he felt immeasurably better. One day at a time, right? He just had to do this one day at a time and he'd be fine.
He snuck through the lobby to the best of his ability (which meant poorly, as there was really nowhere to hide) and down the hallway to the bathroom, only to find a man walking the opposite way, towards him. A man he'd never seen before, oh and Kurt would have known if he'd seen him before because this man? He was gorgeous. He was all tanned lines and lean muscles, bulkier than Kurt's but still stretched long. He was the absolute definition of tall, dark and handsome. Except for the tall part. But Kurt found that he really didn't mind it because he wore a plain white t-shirt and jeans that fit him in all the right places. A tool belt was slung low on his hips. Oh yeah, bathroom reno starts today, Kurt somehow thought coherently.
This man was stunning.
"You must be Baby Blaine," Kurt greeted, mentally kicking himself for using the dumb nickname and thrusting his hand forward.
This man was stunning. Until he opened his mouth.
"And you must be the failed dancer from New York," He said, voice curiously devoid of a southern accent but was wrapped with a bright, cheery smile. More of a sneer, really. He crossed his strong arms in front of his chest, making it clear that he didn't intend to shake Kurt's outstretched hand.
Kurt's easy smile, the one he had worked so hard all day to foster, instantly faltered. What the fuck? "Um...excuse me?" he said, venom seeping easily back into his voice. Yeah, this morning had been nice and the kids were cute as fucking buttons, but he all of a sudden remembered the reality of his situation. He was stuck in this town and staring down the man who apparently harbored all of the small town bigotry that had been suspiciously absent from all the other townsfolk thus far.
"You heard me," Blaine replied, eyes narrowing, this fake robot smile turning a little meaner. "There's really no other reason for you to be down here, slumming it in the middle of nowhere unless you just couldn't hack it up there. So what? Life was too hard so you came crying to Darla for help?"
Kurt felt his face flush with anger. Where did this guy get off? How dare he make such bold assumptions. "What are you talking about?" He finally spat, barely containing his rage. "You don't even know me-"
"-Yeah, well I don't want to-"
"-And here you are, making insane assumptions about me and why I'm here and who I am-"
"Oh, I think I know exactly what kind of person you are," Blaine cut in as he leaned forward. He didn't raise his voice but his eyes seemed to have a fire burning behind them. He spoke in a low, cold voice, "You're the kind of person who rolls into this town, needing something from these wonderful, kind people. And you take and take and take until you're all better and you leave a trail of broken people behind you." He leaned even further in, getting dangerously close to Kurt. A minute ago, it would have made Kurt's palms sweat, but now? Now it just kept his anger thrumming steadily through his body.
"This town is special. These people are special." Blaine continued, "and I'll be damned if I let some outsider trample all over them. Not again."
Kurt didn't even have the time to mull over that last part. He just saw red. He fucking felt red. He was swimming in a god damn sea of it. Kurt leaned further in, almost chest to chest with Blaine, feeling a shallow pride at having a few inches on him. He glared down with the full force of his disgust, because that's what he felt. Pure disgust.
"Like I said," Kurt hissed, shaking, "You don't know me." He shoved a finger into Blaine's chest and the other man backed away, perhaps shocked that Kurt had actually touched him.
"But if we're making baseless accusations and wild assumptions about strangers, if that's really what you want to do right now, then let me say: you are a small minded, bigotted, xenophobic man who is carrying an amazing amount of hate in his heart for how obviously small it, well...and he, is." Kurt looked him up and down rudely because yes, he was being petty and yes, it felt pretty damn good.
They stared daggers into one another as the air between them remained thick with tension. There was a heat there that threatened to smother Kurt, to drag him down to place he didn't want to be so he pivoted, took a step away, and then spun back around to face the still seething man, a flash of Blaine's plan proposal rushing to the front of Kurt's design-centric brain.
"Oh, and for someone who thinks they're so smart and knows everything, you should really know better than to put white grout in that bathroom. This is an establishment packed with kids, every single day. Do you really think white grout is going to be low maintenance? Do you think that grout is going to age well when half of this school's population hasn't even learned how to aim yet? But then again, I guess it's pretty obvious that putting thought into things is a little beyond your realm of ability. Now if you'll excuse me."
And with that, Kurt spun on his heel, down the hallway, through the lobby and out into the humid afternoon, leaving a slightly stunned Blaine in his wake.
Kurt's afternoon bath did little to soothe his anger. He kept rolling Blaine's words over and over in his head, trying to understand just what in the world had happened. Perhaps Kurt had ogled him, just a tad? Perhaps Blaine was a huge homophobe? Kurt didn't know and he wanted to believe he didn't care, but he did.
Everyone in this little town had been so open and welcoming and then this asshole just had to tear apart Kurt's hopeful illusion that this summer might not be so bad after all.
Kurt set about making dinner in an attempt to keep himself busy and his mind off of a certain curly haired bastard. By the time Darla walked in the front door, Kurt was pulling a baked ziti out of the oven, salad prepped and tossed and on the gigantic kitchen island.
"Oh darlin'!" Darla exclaimed, seeing Kurt's work. "You didn't have to go through all this trouble!"
"It was no trouble at all," Kurt replied, hoping the edge to his voice had faded enough to be pleasant and not biting. The taste was still bitter on his tongue. "Now go clean up so we can eat; I'm starving."
Darla looked truly touched as she put a hand on his shoulder, her sweet eyes saying a thousand thank yous as she squeezed gently before walking upstairs.
Crammed into the little kitchen table, Darla oo'd and aww'd over Kurt's meal, insisting that he had to teach her how to make this before he left. He agreed easily, trying to keep the conversation on lighter things. But it didn't take Darla long to bring it up. Or rather, him.
"So, did you get a chance to meet Baby Blaine today before you left?" It was obvious by her tone that no one had overheard their little confrontation, meaning the rumor mill had no idea of what had transpired in that little hallway. Probably because they'd been standing inches from one another, hissing and spitting their words instead of yelling.
Kurt's glare returned full force and his lips set into a thin line. "Oh, I met him alright." He brutally stabbed a cucumber from his salad and began mashing it on his plate, appetite gone.
"And?" Darla asked coyly, looking down at her plate and feigning a casual interest. This also meant that she didn't see Kurt's rigid shoulders and stormy eyes.
"And?" Kurt snorted. That got Darla's attention and her head snapped up, brow furrowed at the noise. "And, if we're talking about the same guy, I have absolutely no idea why you thought we'd 'get on so well'." He made heavy finger quotes around her words from last night. He felt the anger bubbling and boiling in him again with renewed vigor. "He's obviously an intolerant ass who made some pretty insane assumptions about me."
Darla quirked her eyebrow in a silent inquiry.
Kurt just laughed humorously, "He said I was a failure and that the only reason I was here was because I couldn't hack it in New York and that I was going to use you and the town or something? Drain you guys dry, I don't know." Kurt's breath rushed out a giant heap as he pushed his plate away enough to prop his elbow on the table (terrible manners, but fuck it) and drop his face into his hands. He sighed again because it kind of made him feel better and he couldn't do much else. "He called me an outsider."
Kurt would never admit it, especially not to Blaine, but that had hurt the worst. He hadn't belonged in Ohio, now he may not even belong in New York; his dream city. And what? Now he didn't even belong here? He was an outsider everywhere he went.
He wasn't even sure he wanted to belong here. But it had felt so damn nice when everyone just smiled and introduced themselves and didn't ask questions and just let him be. They just let him in. And now this one man had reminded him that every place he tried to rest his head would just slam the door in his face eventually.
"Ahh," Darla said, as if this word- outsider -gave her some sort of answer. And Kurt would love one of those right now, so he asked, "What's his problem, Darla?" and because he was feeling petty and angry he added, "And why the fuck does everyone call him Baby Blaine?"
Darla laughed, but it was a sadder sound than usual. Kurt looked up to see a soft expression on Darla's face as she looked out the window to her left into the backyard. She looked a little far away, and sure enough, that seemed to be where her memory had taken her.
"He hasn't had the easiest life, darlin'." Darla said softly.
"Preaching to the choir," Kurt said defiantly. He hadn't exactly had a life of extreme privilege and ease either, but he didn't go around insulting strangers without reason. It was no excuse; he'd need more than that.
"I know, I know," Darla agreed and reached out to pat his hand that was now resting on the table between them. From most people, it would have been a condescending gesture, like he was a spoiled child who required constant affirmation. But from Darla, he knew she really meant it. After a short pause, she looked back out the window and continued.
"Blaine showed up in town when he was probably about 7. Couldn't have been much older but, oh, he was so small. Such a little thing." Kurt snorted, yeah he was, but Darla ignored him.
"His parents had died in a car accident. He came here to live with his grandma Blanche. Let me tell you, that woman is tough as nails, but she wasn't ready to raise a little boy again; that requires too much energy. So the whole town pitched in. We made sure he got involved, played baseball, sang in the school choir, you know, all the normal stuff a kid should get to do. There was just something about him…" She trailed off, a small smile on her face as if looking through fond memories.
"He was all curls and big, wide eyes and just...he was impossible not to love."
Kurt studied Darla's face for a moment, feeling more confused than he had before this little background story. "Based on my experience with him today, I'm finding that sort of hard to believe." He felt a little bit like a dick for admitting that after hearing about his dead parents, but it was true. Kurt's mom had died around the same age as Blaine's, and Kurt knew how much that hurt. But it was still not an excuse. He still needed more.
Dalra smiled sadly at him, looking apologetic. "You said he called you an outsider?"
Kurt's heart stung a bit at that word again but he nodded.
It was Darla's turn to sigh, "I should have seen that coming. We've uh...we've had some bad run ins with strangers in this town before. You know, the travelling salesmen type who blow through town and pray on vulnerable old women? Things like that. Once we even had a big plastics manufacturer come in, wanting to build this huge factory here. They promised jobs and increased revenue, I mean...it sounded great. Until we started doing our research into the dangers of the pollutants it could cause and how often these deals ended up being with shady people. The town ended up refusing but that company hounded us for years after. It was a big hassle."
"I think Blaine is just extra wary about people he doesn't know." Darla finished, looking at Kurt with an expression that begged him to understand. And he did. To some extent. But it just didn't excuse his behavior.
"Well, wary or not, he didn't have to attack me like he did." Kurt suddenly felt exhausted, like the anger in him had finally burned through all of his fuel.
"I'm sorry darlin'." Darla said sincerely, standing to collect their dishes and take them to the sink. "Do you, um...well, do you think you'll be okay working at the school while he finishes the renovation? I'd get someone else to do it but, well, small town - there isn't really anyone else. Not on such short notice anyways."
Kurt pulled the back of his hand across his skin to wick the sweat away. When had he started sweating again? "It's fine Darla. I'll make it work. He may not be able to maintain basic courtesy and manners but I can."
Darla's smile widened a little, showing off her toothy grin. "I know you can." She stretched up on her toes to kiss his cheek.
She washed and he dried, what he assumed would just be their routine from here on out. "You may want to look into the grout color he's using though…" he muttered. Darla laughed even as he continued to grumble.
So Blaine was an asshole and not everyone in this town was a rosy cheeked saint, good to know. It really shouldn't have been a surprise. No man is that good looking without some major character flaw after all. It's the universe's way of maintaining balance or some shit.
So Kurt would do his job, never pee at that school ever again and avoid Blaine until the renovation was done. He would start physical therapy next week, twice a week and in twelve weeks, he'd have a healed spine and legs that worked without question and he'd be jet setting back to New York. Leaving this surly man to eat his words because Kurt was not a failure. He refused to be. He didn't have another option but to succeed because if he didn't? He wouldn't belong back in New York.
And then Blaine would be right; he would be an outsider.
And fuck if he'd let Blaine be right.
A/N: Sooo...Blaine's sort of a dick. But a dick with a heart of gold? You'll have to tune in next week! Er well...Saturday...tune in Satur-whatever! You get it! Let me know what you think: leave a review. And, as always, make sure to follow or favorite so you don't miss the next chapter! See ya'll Saturday :)