There were a few patrons between Blaine and Kurt in line inside, but Kurt was still waiting for his drink—a grandé, non-fat mocha. Sue him. While he was in New York, he got accustomed to his flavored coffee—when Blaine stepped to the side to wait for the barista to call his name. "Hey," he said, nudging Kurt gently with his elbow. "You beat me here. I wasn't expecting that."
"Yeah," Kurt said with a hint of a smile. "My dad was sleeping in this morning, so I got around quicker than I normally do."
There was a pause as the barista called Kurt up and handed him his drink.
"I'll get us a table," Kurt offered.
"Thanks," Blaine said, watching him walk away to an isolated corner booth at the back. A few minutes later, Blaine's drink was ready, and he sauntered over to the table Kurt had seated himself at. "I'm glad you decided to show up," he said as he took a seat opposite Kurt. "Even though you told me last night that you would, I was still worried you'd decide you didn't want to be friends."
"I keep my word," Kurt said simply, shrugging. "You seem like you genuinely want to get to know me, and it's been a long time since I had an actual friend." Maybe I've never had one, he muses. That's a thought for a different time.
"An actual friend?" Blaine questioned, taking a sip of his coffee, a medium drip.
"Yeah. One who doesn't use you and toss you aside when they're done with you."
"Sounds like you've got experience."
"I suppose you could say that."
"Well, we don't have to dive into the heavy stuff right away," Blaine offered, sensing that his genuine curiosity was starting to get under Kurt's skin. "Let's talk about something lighter. Something fun. How about…" He pondered for a moment what they could talk about that wouldn't take a detour into something heavy. He actually didn't know what might be triggering for Kurt, and he was slightly afraid to ask about anything he found innocent because he didn't want to drive a wedge between them. "Let's be cliché and old-fashioned and talk about the weather," he finally settled on. "Sure is a nice day out there. Little bit hot, but this is July. Whatcha gonna do?"
"Wouldn't feel too bad if there was a wind," Kurt said, catching on to what he was doing. "If you don't like the weather, though, wait five minutes. We could have summer, spring, winter, and fall all in one day."
They both giggled at each other, the tension that had built up between them breaking a bit.
"It's fun to live in the middle of nowhere, isn't it?" Blaine joked, taking another sip of his coffee. "All of our conversations are exactly the same."
Kurt nodded, taking a long drink of his mocha. He liked this, liked the small talk with Blaine, even if it was the most overused and cheesy thing. Blaine was a good guy, doing his best to break the ice between them. He knew, however, that if he didn't talk about what they'd come there to talk about, he'd get stuck in his head again, and Blaine would have to break the ice once more. "You know you don't have to be here, right? You don't have to listen to my problems? I mean, it's very noble of you, but I don't know what you'll get out of this. I doubt I'll be much of a friend, and…"
"I know I don't have to be here. I want to be. And you've already been a better friend to me than many I've given that title to. I want to hear what you have to say whenever you're ready to talk about it."
A smile flitted across Kurt's features. Maybe we have more in common than I thought, he mused. "I know we said we didn't have to talk about it right away," he began, talking over the top of his cup without meeting Blaine's eyes, "but I do. If I hold it in any longer, you'll just have to find another ice breaker in a few minutes."
Blaine nodded. "Thanks for telling me. Unless you say otherwise, all I'm going to do is listen. So, talk away."
"I appreciate that," Kurt said softly. "You can say whatever you'd like when I'm finished. Until then, I just need to know that someone's listening."
"I'm all ears," Blaine replied, leaning back in his chair, crossing his legs, and beginning to turn his cup in his hands.
Kurt kept a hold of his cup and stared at it as he tried to figure out where to start. "I know you said you remember me in high school. I don't know if you remember anything outside of my Teen Angel, but I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't. No one seemed to notice me. I was pretty invisible."
I noticed you. I noticed you a lot, and I wished you'd notice me, Blaine thought.
"I was a quiet kid in high school. I didn't really have any friends, and I preferred to read and write than go to parties or play sports. The only extracurricular activity I did was drama club. I wanted to be in the choir, maybe even the Glee Club, but when I tried out, Mr. Schuester told me…" He stopped, swallowing back the lump of emotions in his throat. "He told me there was no place for a voice like mine…"
Blaine couldn't stop the gasp that escaped.
Kurt didn't even raise his head. "When I graduated, I knew I wanted to study Creative Writing, but I didn't know what I wanted my specialty to be. Luckily, my dad had saved a lot of money, and I won a lot of local and state contests with one of my short stories. Some scholarships, too. So, when I got accepted to NYU, I was able to go without worrying about tuition. My first semester there, I had a screenwriting and stage writing class, and I was sold. I loved it.
"So, that became my major, and my professors thought the world of me. They loved everything I wrote, and during my senior year of college, they encouraged me to submit my senior stage script to a contest being run by a prominent, off-Broadway theater: Cherry Lane. Somehow, I won."
"Amazing," Blaine breathed. His cheeks immediately burned, and he put his coffee cup up to his lips to keep himself from speaking further. Your job is to listen.
"During my senior year, I'd become good friends with this guy, Ryan. Things began to develop the more we hung out, and by the time we graduated, we were together as partners. He said he loved me, and I believed him. There were red flags, though, things I should have picked up on.
"Anyway, part of winning the contest was having your play performed for one night only at Cherry Lane. I got to be a part of the casting process and rehearsal, and all said and done, the show didn't open until nearly 10 months after I won the contest. It was an amazing time, and I loved every moment of it. On opening night, there was an agent who came up to me and wanted to sign me. Everyone I was working closely with at Cherry told me I should do it. Ryan, too. So, I signed on the dotted line.
"For five years, everything was really good. Other off-Broadway theaters picked up my show and produced it, and a travelling troupe was even put together to tour the States and do a few shows in Europe. As long as my show was being produced, my agent was happy, and Ryan and I got to travel around and do a lot of fun things. Life was going really well for us, and we were happy. We were even talking about… Getting married," he whispered, his voice changing, getting lower and darker and more guarded.
"Then, last September, my show closed, and my agent told me I needed to write a new script by June 1st if I wanted to stay on with them. So, I tried. I sat down, and no words came out. No ideas lit up my head. It was empty. I began to worry that I was only a one-trick pony. Maybe I was like Harper Lee, and I'd struggle to write anything after my first stage play. When I tried to talk to Ryan about it, he got mad. He told me that there was no excuse for being lazy, and that I was no good to anybody if I couldn't write anymore.
"I didn't realize how serious he was until March. It was pretty obvious to me by then that I wasn't going to be able to write anything, and I was honest with my agent, letting them know that they didn't have to keep representing me if I was going to have nothing to offer them. The day my contract with them was terminated was the same day I came home to find all of Ryan's stuff gone and a note on the table telling me how worthless I was."
There were tears on both the boys' faces, and Blaine could sense that Kurt was nearly finished. There was just a bit more of his story to tell.
"When I called home to tell my dad the news, my dad had some news of his own: he was having heart problems and didn't know what was causing them. I made the decision right then and there that I didn't want to be in New York anymore. It had been a nice run, but there was nothing left for me; my dad needed me more. So, as quickly as I could sell the apartment I'd purchased, I left NYC and came back here. Just a washed up nobody who can't even write at the age of 31, only good for taking care of my dad now, I guess. I bought the old Berry house to give me something to do. Mostly, I felt sorry for it, sitting there abandoned. I remember when it was so full of life…"
"I vaguely do," Blaine said softly. "For most of my teen years, though, it was empty. You know, if you want some help fixing the place up, I'm pretty handy. I have a lot of DIY experience."
"So you've said."
"I've helped repair a lot of things around my parents' house. I've got some drywall experience from when I redid my bedroom." That's a stretch. You repaired one hole. One.
Kurt sighed, wiping away the tears from his face with the heel of his hand, smiling softly. "I'll keep that in mind. Anyway, that's my sob story. Sorry to ruin the good day I'm sure you were having." He still couldn't look Blaine in the eye, but he brought his gaze closer, running his eyes over the neckline of Blaine's black and red sweater vest.
"You didn't ruin anything," Blaine sniffled. "Thank you for trusting me with that."
"You're the only person on the face of the planet who knows all of that besides my dad."
Blaine's eyes went wide. "That's an honor, Kurt… I-I can't believe you put so much faith in me."
"It wasn't me," Kurt answered. "I mean, I felt like there was something else, someone else in the universe, maybe Fate, telling me it was okay to tell you."
He nodded in understanding. "Do you want to talk about any of that?"
"Not really."
"We don't have to."
"Thanks."
The rest of their coffee date was quiet, both of them thinking about what Kurt had shared, wondering how the other fit into the details of that story and what they were supposed to do now that they knew. They chatted idly about random things, mostly little tidbits from the fair and the newspaper until Blaine's coffee was gone.
"I'm glad you came," Blaine said again, standing up, giving Kurt a small smile.
"Me, too. It felt good to get that off my chest."
"If I invite you out for coffee again, will you show up?"
"Probably. As long as you know it's not a date. I just… I can't…"
"I know. You're not ready. I understand."
"Okay. Then, yes. I'd do it again."
"We'll make a plan, then."
"Okay. That sounds nice."
"I think it does, too," Blaine reassured him. "Are we—Can we call each other friends now?"
A tiny smile flitted across Kurt's face. "Yeah. I'd like that. We can be friends."
They walked one another to the front door where they said a quiet goodbye to one another and went their separate ways, at least physically. Mentally and emotionally, however, they were still very much together, considering what should come next for them and their budding new friendship.