Author's Note

My life is quite turbulent right now, and I find that I lack the mental spoons to write. So here's something for you that I have been working on and have written several chapters of already, to keep you going until my writing mojo comes back.

Chapter 1: Lost

Kurt turned into the street where the bar should be, and looked around. He couldn't see a bar anywhere. He wanted to ask a passer-by, but there was no-one in sight, and no wonder. Kurt would have avoided this part of town, too, if Mercedes hadn't told him to come here.

The buildings were dilapidated. Paint was peeling off the window frames, the walls were covered in graffiti and busted glass panes had been clumsily fixed with cardboard and duct tape. Kurt wouldn't even be surprised to find squatters living in them.

Pity, though. This had clearly been a 'better neighbourhood' once. Everything spoke of former grandeur. Though they were in bad repair, some of the shop fronts had stained-glass decorations above the shop windows, above the entrance doors were beautiful stone carvings, and the signs, though cracked and peeling, showed gold-painted lettering and detailed engraving. The biggest of the old buildings had to have been a hotel once. Most of the letters had peeled off of the sign over the entrance, which now said "T.. D..t.n". The doors were wide open, and Kurt admired the grand foyer and the sweeping staircase for a moment, before focussing on his current predicament.

Where on earth am I? And Mercedes said it was so easy to find… Where did I go wrong? Let's go over it again. 'When you come out of the subway station, you turn left and walk straight ahead for two blocks. There you should see a small park. Turn left, and then it's the second street to the left and after that the fourth street on the right. You can't miss it. The sign is HUGE.'

Kurt sighed. Of course. That was it. When he'd arrived at the right stop, he'd run up the stairs to the street and turned right instead of left. No wonder he'd ended up in the wrong area. Now he'd have to trek all the way back and then follow the directions correctly. And no doubt, he'd be too late to see Mercedes perform. Ugh.

A sudden gust of wind made Kurt's coat flap, and he shivered.

Better get back to my apartment before I catch a cold or get mugged.

"Kurt!" someone shouted.

Huh? There was no-one here just seconds ago! And they know my name? That doesn't sound like Mercedes, though. It's a man's voice, and I've never heard it before…

Kurt turned around and felt his jaw drop. Out of nowhere, a man had appeared in front of the former hotel. And he didn't look like a squatter at all. He was wearing a crisp white shirt, an off-white suit with a whimsically patterned black and white handkerchief in the breast pocket, a grey tie and shiny black shoes. His hair was slicked back, and except for neat sideburns, he was meticulously clean-shaven. He was also sporting a sunshiny smile, like Kurt had just made his entire day by showing up in this run-down street.

"Kurt!" the man repeated, his eyes crinkling. "You came back!"

Kurt gaped at him, and then scrambled for words. "Uhm… I… I don't… I don't think I've ever been here before. And… Sorry, but… Who are you?"

That wiped the smile clean off the man's face, and Kurt saw a gamut of emotions flit over it - sadness, disappointment, anger and then, finally, resignation. The man dropped his gaze and passed a hand over his eyes, sighing. Then he threw his shoulders back and made eye contact with Kurt again, his chin up defiantly but his eyes wary. "I understand. It was nice knowing you."

Kurt, now completely baffled, hastened to redeem himself. "No, no… I'm sorry if I said anything wrong, but seriously, I've never been in this part of NYC before! And I've honestly never seen you before. Trust me, I'd remember!"

Uh-oh, probably shouldn't have said that last bit…

Kurt flushed and took to studying the uneven tiles of the sidewalk in fascination.

"Kurt?"

The man's voice was gentle, and Kurt looked up, gasping in surprise when he noticed how close together they were standing now. Even in the darkening dusk, he could make out the green and gold flecks in the other's eyes.

"You don't need to lie to me to make me feel better. As I said, I understand. You're scared. You don't want to be seen with the same man too often, because you don't want your family to suspect and disown you. I'm sorry. I should never have pressured you into coming back. It's just… I thought…"

The man laid his hand on Kurt's arm. Kurt, startled, shied away, his eyes as big as saucers, and the man sighed but took his hand away, and continued in a strangled whisper. "I thought… What we had… Was a real connection. I guess I was wrong. Goodbye."

To his alarm, Kurt saw tears streaming down the face of the unknown man, who now retreated and walked away.

"Hey! Hey…"

Kurt chased after him, taking a pack of paper tissues from his coat pocket.

The man stopped and turned around to face Kurt again, wiping the tears from his cheeks with an impatient huff and sniffling.

"Here." Kurt held out the pack. "Take one. I'm so sorry I made you cry. And I'm not sure what's going on here and how you know my name, but I'm not leaving until I've figured it out."

The man looked at the pocket tissues with a puzzled frown. "What am I supposed to take?"

"Well, a tissue, of course, to blow your nose. Here…"

Kurt took one of the tissues out of the plastic and offered it to the man, who took it and unfolded it carefully. "What's this made of?"

Kurt quirked an eyebrow. "Paper, of course."

The man gasped. "This is like… What's it called? Kleenex! Paper tissues. I read about that in a magazine at the dentist's. Gloria Swanson uses this to wipe off her make-up. Ingenious. You use it to blow your nose, you say?"

Kurt shrugged. "Yes. Doesn't everyone?"

"No. I've never seen a paper tissue up close. Only in that magazine. Kleenex was only invented last year, after all."

Kurt, slowly coming to the realisation that he was being pranked - because there was no other explanation, was there? - repeated, "Last year?"

"Well, yes, the article said the product first came out in 1924, and that many people now use it. But I've never seen it so far. My mother isn't much for new-fangled notions."

Kurt cocked his head to the side and fixed the man with a fierce glare. "1924? Okay, now, this joke has gone far enough. I don't know who put you up to this prank, 'cause it doesn't seem like Mercedes' style, but I'm fed up with this, so it stops NOW!"

Kurt's fierceness startled the man, who threw up his hands in defence and took a few steps back. "I'm not joking, I assure you. You… You really don't know me, do you?"

The quiet desperation in those last words was palpable, and Kurt no longer doubted the man's sincerity. His heart felt heavy with shared grief.

Kurt shook his head. "I'm afraid not, sir."

"Blaine," the man said, thrusting his hand out for Kurt to shake. "My name's Blaine. Blaine Anderson."

Kurt shook hands with Blaine. "I'm Kurt Hummel."

Blaine nodded. "I know. Son of Herbert Hummel, who goes by 'Burt'. Your ancestors came to Louisiana from the Alsace Region, and they settled on the German coast. Your father was the rebel of the family, who didn't want to be a farmer like his parents and grand-parents, but chose to come to New York City and open a shop instead."

Kurt stared at Blaine, who shrugged and added, "You told me all about yourself. And about the curse. No happily-ever-afters for anyone in your family until you've made up for what your great-grandfather did."

"You can add a few 'greats' to that," Kurt said slowly. "This is 2016, not 1925, whatever you may think. And the Kurt you think I am was my great-grandfather. He broke tradition and called his son Devon instead of Burt. I've never known why. My father, Burt, is Devon's oldest son, and I'm an only child, seeing as my mother got ill soon after I was born, and passed away when I was eight."

Blaine's eyes widened during Kurt's explanation. "2016? How is that possible? And Devon… Well… That's my middle name."

At that point, a loud voice yelled, "Anderson! My guests want to dance! Get back in here pronto!"

Kurt jumped in surprise and looked towards the hotel, where the voice had come from. He inhaled sharply when he saw the hotel bustling with people, the foyer bathed in light, the chandeliers sparkling and the floors and staircase gleaming.

Oh god… Is this really 1925? How on earth…

Blaine sighed. "That's my cue."

Blaine took one of Kurt's hands and squeezed it briefly. "Well, it was good to see you again. Goodbye, Kurt."

Blaine hurried inside, and after a beat, Kurt followed, by now more than intrigued.

Strange as it was, he seemed to have gone back in time. To 1925, apparently. The hotel guests were wearing clothes he recognised from the Great Gatsby film adaptation, and he praised himself lucky he'd gone all out this evening and chosen a classic dark grey three-piece suit to wear, because Mercedes had insisted the bar was really classy. "And you never know who you might meet."

Kurt had rolled his eyes at that, but in hindsight, he was glad he'd dressed to the nines, because now, he didn't stand out in the least. Although… He looked around and saw that everyone was sitting with their families. All on his own, he stuck out like a sore thumb. What was he to do? He knew nobody but Blaine, and there was no way they'd accept his modern money if he were to order a glass of the fruit punch waiters were distributing to the tables. He bit his lip, trying to figure out what on earth he was going to do.

In the end, it was decided for him.

"Stop the thief! Stop the thief!" somebody yelled, and Kurt saw a tiny boy run towards him full pelt, holding a thick leather wallet.

Kurt deftly plucked the stolen goods from the boy's hands, but let him run out of the hotel unhindered.

Kurt handed the wallet back to its rightful owner, a thickset bald man who was huffing and puffing with the effort of having run after the thief, sweat beading on his forehead.

"Thanks! Pity… you couldn't… catch him."

Kurt just shrugged.

Once the man had caught his breath, he asked, "You're one of the Hummels from the hardware store, right?"

Kurt hesitated, and then answered, "I'm Kurt Hummel, sir."

"You're a good kid," the man said, clapping Kurt on the back. "Come and sit with us. Have a glass of fruit punch."

Kurt opened and closed his mouth like a fish, and then wordlessly nodded.

"Waiter! Can we have another round, please?"

"Yes, Mr Hartz," said the waiter, hurrying to fill the order.

"You really don't have to…" Kurt protested, but Mr Hartz waved that away.

"Hey, if it weren't for you, I wouldn't have any money at all to settle my tab, so offering you a drink is the least I can do. Now come along, I want to introduce you to my family."

Kurt let himself be steered away, and was soon shaking hands with Mr Hartz' brother, and nodding a polite hello to Mr Hartz' sister-in-law and niece.

"Well, sit down, kid," Mr Hartz prompted, now wiping the sweat off his brow with a silk handkerchief. "Listen to the music for a bit. Wasn't that what you came for? To dance with the girls here?"

Kurt looked at the band tuning up, and his face brightened when he saw Blaine behind the microphone, discussing the set list with the others. Blaine was a singer!

Mr Hartz chuckled again. "Yep, I thought so."

Mr Hartz leaned in and whispered into Kurt's ear, "Word to the wise: my niece is the prettiest girl in this room, but don't disrespect her or my brother will have your hide. Quite a temper, Carl has."

Kurt nodded. "I won't, sir."

"Oh, and Kurt… When I went to the hardware store the other day, your dad said you were obsessed with cars. Maybe you're all set on taking over your dad's store one day, but if you'd rather become a car salesman for Ford, get in touch with me. I'm the local dealer here, and I'm always on the look-out for people who are passionate about cars. They make better salesmen. Think it over, and let me know!"

With a wink, Mr Hartz handed Kurt a business card and then leaned back in his seat, whistling along with the tune the band had just struck up.

Kurt had just settled down comfortably in his own chair, intent on enjoying Blaine's set, when Mr Harz' niece got up from her seat and asked him to dance.

Kurt, completely taken aback, mumbled something unintelligible, and she laughed merrily and tugged him off the bar stool and towards the dance floor.

Though Kurt hadn't been too keen on dancing with the girl, he found himself enjoying spending time with her. Her name was Lieselotte, and she was nice. Entertaining, and funny, and light-hearted. She reminded Kurt slightly of Brittany, and that made him smile at Lieselotte fondly. She grinned back cheerfully, and chatted on about her cat having kittens and one of them being entirely black except for one of his paws and the tip of his tail.

Kurt tuned her out as well as he could, focusing on Blaine's singing. Blaine had an amazing voice, and a wonderful stage presence, and by the first refrain, he had Kurt firmly under his spell. Kurt had to force himself not to stare and smile at Blaine besottedly, and to pretend that Lieselotte had all his attention.

After three songs and dances, Kurt politely begged off, and escorted Lieselotte back to her parents, where he then had to endure an interrogation by Lieselotte's father. Mr Hartz rolled his eyes at his brother and winked at Kurt, who promptly flushed scarlet.

"Will you be back tomorrow?" Lieselotte asked Kurt eagerly. "I like you. You're a really good dancer, you let me talk as much as I want to and you keep your hands to yourself."

"I should think so!" her father bristled. Mr Hartz chuckled.

"Uhm… Maybe," Kurt hedged, and then added, truthfully, "I had a nice time too."

Lieselotte beamed at him.

Kurt cleared his throat. "Well, I ought to be going. Good night!"

The Hartz family chorused "Good night!" and Kurt made his escape, walking out of the bar briskly, only looking over his shoulder once, in the hopes of maybe catching Blaine's eye and telegraphing a "Good night" to him too, but Blaine was now crooning It Had To Be You with his eyes closed, and didn't notice Kurt leaving at all.

Lieselotte, however, did notice Kurt looking back and waved at him happily. Her uncle chuckled again and said in a carrying whisper, "I think somebody's smitten…"

Yes, I am, but it's not Lieselotte I fancy, nice as she is…

Kurt strode out of the hotel, and as soon as he'd crossed the street, the wind rose again, and Kurt hastened to button up his coat and upped his pace. It wasn't until he walked past a street lantern and noticed it was covered in graffiti that it dawned on him he was back in 2016.

Has this all been some kind of hallucination?

His nose started to drip from the cold, and he reached for his packet of tissues. Something fell out of his pocket onto the sidewalk, and Kurt crouched to pick it up. It was Mr Hartz' business card, looking as pristine as it had when it was handed to Kurt earlier that evening.

Huh… I guess all of that really happened, then… Weird.

That night, after calling Mercedes to apologise for never turning up to hear her sing, he went to bed early.

His last thought before falling asleep was, Would I see Blaine again if I went back tomorrow?