Over the next few weeks, Kurt and Blaine covered several stories together. There was the mayor's campaign announcement, the young woman in the community who had written a book, the change in management at the meat locker—which was probably their least favorite story to cover—and the new school principal amongst other, much smaller projects. They were getting along well and didn't mind spending time together, but they were no closer to being friends than they'd been on that first day at the fairgrounds. Every part of their relationship was surface level, at least around one another. Behind closed doors? Well, anyone's guess was good.
It wasn't that Kurt didn't want to be friends with Blaine. At least, that wasn't the reason anymore. It had been at the beginning, but his mind was slowly beginning to change as Blaine began to earn his trust. He didn't talk to him about high school. He didn't ask why he was home. He didn't try to dive into Kurt's past or pry into his personal life. It was refreshing and a far cry from what Kurt had been afraid Blaine would want from him. It seemed that this junior reporter was pretty good at reading him and knew not to press his buttons.
When Joel had found out that Kurt was planning to attend the county fair all three nights, he'd asked him to take one night to cover a few stories with Blaine, and Kurt had, reluctantly, agreed.
The first night, he took his dad along. They went to watch the tractor pull, to look at all the exhibits waiting to be judged, and to enjoy some ice cream on the fairway while children, parents, and teens wandered around, taking in everything and riding the rides.
The second night, he went as a judge. He'd been asked to be on the panel for the school writing contest entries due to his background, and he'd agreed only to help the kids out. He remembered what it was like to be a young fledgeling, wondering if he had any talent at all.
The third night, an hour before he was to meet Blaine at the fairgrounds, he made a quick stop at the Berry house. His first step had been demo: pulling down all of the fancy old woodwork he wanted to save, knocking out all the sheetrock and plaster, removing the old knob and tube wiring, and essentially gutting the entire place until there was nothing but studs and the wooden floor he wanted to preserve.
When he arrived, he made a beeline for the master bedroom, where he had stored all the fancy doors and woodwork from the rest of the house. He wanted to take a couple of measurements and snap a few photos of the old doors he'd decided not to keep. As he was shuffling around some of the boards, something soft brushed against the side of his hand.
"What was that?" he mumbled, glancing down. There, poking through a small hole in the plastic sheet he'd laid down to protect the wooden floor, was the red yarn he'd seen weeks earlier. How had he not noticed it all the times he'd been in that room over the last few weeks?
He once again picked up the end of the yarn, giving it a tug. Once again, it only pulled itself taut, not moving an inch from its place between the floorboards.
"Weird," he mumbled, going back to what he was doing. How does that string keep showing up, and what is it caught on?