Blaine was the first to arrive on the Aft Deck in his pristine new uniform, his navy polo tight over his tanned arms, and Kurt almost thought he looked good- until he smiled, unfailingly, infuriatingly charming, and greeted him with a soft "hi, Kurt", and reminded him how insufferably annoying he was.
He acknowledged him with a cool nod as Blaine shifted under his gaze, his golden eyes searching Kurt's face as a tiny, worried crease appeared on his brow. He opened his mouth to say something else, and Kurt mentally rolled his eyes, preparing for whatever irritating thing the other boy was about to say. Whatever it was, he didn't find out- the words seemingly dying on Blaine's lips as his eyes darted down to his bare feet, toe scuffing against the smooth teak of the deck.
An awkward silence settled over them, uncomfortable and heavy, the tension in the air almost palpable and crackling like static. Kurt still couldn't pinpoint what it was that infuriated him about Blaine, exactly- perhaps it was that his earnestness was most likely naiveté in equal measure, that his optimism was born out of pure inexperience. From his resume, it was clear that Blaine was his weak link, the one chink in the armour of his deck crew that could ruin his chance as Bosun if given the opportunity.
But perhaps his dislike was also born out of jealousy, envy at how the other boy just exuded charm, how he had strolled into the Crew Mess with a smile, grinning with Tina like he had known her forever- and really, Kurt had to make sure that that wasn't going to be a problem. There was no denying that Blaine Anderson was magnetic, but Kurt wouldn't be drawn to him. There was too much at stake.
The arrival of Finn and Puck tore him from his brooding thoughts, his shoulders straightening as he settled into Bosun-mode, nodding curtly and gesturing to the assorted couches assembled on the deck. Finn fell onto one of the plush cushions easily, settling back and looking at Kurt expectantly, brown eyes wide and almost childlike, as though waiting for a bedtime story. Puck flopped down on the next couch and propped up his bare feet, earning a pointed look from Kurt before sheepishly planting them back on the floor, raising his eyebrows at Finn as Kurt turned away to look at his final Deckhand. Blaine dithered next to him for a moment, glancing between him and the remaining couch, and it struck Kurt that he was likely waiting for him to sit first. So, he was a gentleman, too, and somehow that made him more annoying. One thing was for sure, there was no way he would be sitting flush against Blaine on the tiny loveseat. No, he would stand, because he was the Bosun, and this was his meeting.
"Sit down," he instructed, somewhat impatiently, and Blaine sat, blinking at him owlishly, that crease in his brow back again, deeper this time, and Kurt was sure it was inevitable that he would get wrinkles if he kept this up. He decided he didn't care; Blaine's skincare was not his problem.
"Good afternoon, deck crew," he greeted, casting a glance around the men assembled in front of him, "now that you've had a chance to settle in, get unpacked, and get to know each other, we have a lot to do. We have charter guests arriving tomorrow afternoon, and we need to flip this entire boat between now and then. We'll work until the Chef prepares the crew dinner, and then take a break. Afterwards it's back to work, and we can call it a day at 8pm. I expect all of you to be responsible for yourselves and make sure that you're getting enough sleep. We'll be back on deck at 7am, which gives you plenty of time to sleep- so there's no excuse for anyone to be tired. This boat has to be completely spotless before our guests get here. Anything less than perfect isn't good enough. Is that clear?"
He looked around his crew again, hearing mumbled affirmations from Finn and Puck as Blaine nodded vigorously. They were an interesting bunch, to say the least, but they were all he had, and so they would do. At least Finn and Puck looked like they would be useful when it came to putting out the water toys, Puck with his muscled arms and Finn with his clear height advantage.
"First off," Kurt began, turning his attention to Finn, "Finn, you're going to be my Lead Deckhand for this charter season, which means that if I'm not around, you're in charge. Puck and Blaine, you do what Finn instructs you to do unless it directly contradicts an order from me or the Captain. Does that sound okay to you, Finn?"
The other man grinned, accepting a high-five from Puck, and nodded, looking proud of himself. Kurt smiled tersely and blazed on, conscious of each second that ticked by without work being done.
"Puck, I want you to start on the Bow. I'll be joining you. Make sure that every single spot of silver is polished, that the deck is washed and waxed, that the windows are clean. I'm sure you know what you're doing," Kurt instructed, "Finn, you'll be taking Blaine and starting here on the Stern. Do the same there, make sure that it's spotless. Keep your radios on you at all times and make sure they're tuned to the right channel. I expect to be able to reach you if I need you. Any questions?"
The Deckhands blinked back at him in silence, and he nodded, about to set them to work when he saw Puck lean in close to Finn and mutter something, earning a tiny smirk that disappeared as quickly as it had arrived when Finn noticed Kurt's watchful eye trained on him.
"Puck, do you have something you'd like to say?" he asked, trying to keep his voice cool despite the way the blood was rushing in his ears. He knew exactly what was going on, had been undermined in this manner countless times, had an expert ear for the cruel remarks and mocking jokes. Puck looked back at him, unblinking, his expression impossible to read.
"I was just wondering," he started, "if, ya know, we can take a shit when we need to, or if we need to ask you first, since you tell us when we can eat and sleep and all."
Kurt stiffened, face darkening in an instant, fighting the urge to clench his fists by his sides by opting to cross his arms over his chest instead, cocking his head to the side as he looked at Puck. He hadn't missed the way Blaine's eyebrows had practically shot to his hairline, had noticed the way he had squirmed uncomfortably and shot him a pitying look that made his blood boil. He wasn't here to be pitied.
He couldn't say he hadn't predicted this. He had fully expected some pushback from his deck crew- most straight guys didn't take too kindly to being ordered around by a gay guy, that much was just fact, no matter his ranking. But he hadn't quite expected open defiance like this, though, wasn't quite sure how to respond. Sure, he had seen Deckhands question Bosuns before- had even watched one go head-to-head with Captain Sue, a mistake they never made again-, but to be opposed over only the most basic of instructions was practically unheard of.
"Actually, Puck," he started, forcing a contrived smile, his tone clipped, "if you do need to go to the cabins for any reason, you should radio first, to let me know. Just in case I need you. Clear? I thought so. You can head to the Bow and get started with the silver. I'll be there in five."
There was a brief second of silence as the finality of Kurt's tone hung in the air, Finn's eyes darting between Puck and Kurt like a spectator at a tennis match, and Blaine staring at a spot on the floor between his feet, hands clasped in his lap. Puck looked like he wanted to argue, a defiant look still on his face, but instead he pushed himself onto his feet and swaggered off towards the Bow, glaring at Kurt with contempt as he passed him by. Kurt felt his breath catching automatically as the other man barrelled past his shoulder, bracing himself for an impact that thankfully never came. He turned his attention to the rest of his deck crew, the neutral expression on his face never betraying the rapid beating of his heart.
"You two can go get started. Radio me if you need anything."
And with that, he turned on his heel and headed off in the same direction Puck had disappeared in, leaving a stunned Blaine alone with Finn.
"Well," Finn started, clapping his hands to his knees and getting to his feet, "you heard him. Let's get going. I'm Finn, by the way."
Blaine stood, still hesitantly looking after Kurt, wringing his hands nervously.
"Blaine. Do you, um," he began, clearing his throat awkwardly, "do you think he's okay?"
Finn blinked, gazing down at Blaine from his immense height, as though the thought that Kurt might not be okay had never occurred to him. He shrugged, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his grey uniform shorts.
"Kurt? Yeah, he'll be fine. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy to take any crap. Besides, I know Puck, that's just who he is. He doesn't do too good with being told what to do, but he's a good guy deep down. I think they just need to get to know each other, y'know?" Finn explained, taking a few steps towards the Bosun's locker full of cleaning supplies and pausing for Blaine to follow. The shorter boy fell into line next to him, looking up at him curiously.
"You know Puck? Like… from before? From another boat?" he asked. He was aware that yachting was a more insular industry than most people thought, knew that many yachties made connections and utilised them from boat-to-boat- he himself had worked with the same Captain on both the boats he had worked on prior to this one. But everything about M/Y Courage just seemed so unfamiliar and new that it was almost impossible to fathom that someone could have that lifeline of an existing friend.
"Yeah, we've worked together before, a couple years back. He usually does sailboats, though. But we keep in touch, and he does motor when there aren't a lot of sailing positions open, or when he needs some extra cash," Finn explained, reaching the storage cabin and pulling it open, perusing its contents before tossing a rag, spray bottle and chamois at Blaine's head. He caught them deftly, and Finn grinned in approval before grabbing his own cleaning supplies.
"So… me sharing a room with Puck isn't going to be a problem, right? Because I think that it was Kurt who assigned the cabins, or the Chief Stew maybe- I don't know, I haven't met her-, and maybe he didn't know you guys knew each other, so- "
Finn chuckled, cutting off Blaine's ramble and shaking his head fondly, nudging his shoulder against the other man's in a comforting gesture.
"Dude, breathe. You're like, super anxious. It's all good, I've roomed with Puck before, and I gotta say- I don't envy you. He's my buddy, but he's a messy dude. You're welcome to him," he laughed, pulling a face at the memory of sharing a cabin with the other Deckhand. Blaine exhaled and managed a small smile, a stark contrast to his usual beaming grin.
He wasn't sure why he felt so out of depth on this boat. It was beautiful, and the Caribbean was stunning, and he already had a promising friend in Tina, and maybe Finn. He hadn't even felt this nervous on his very first boat, but something about M/Y Courage just seemed… off, so far, and he was very much inclined to believe it had something to do with his Bosun.
Blaine was an optimist, always had been, but he wasn't blind, and he wasn't stupid. He chose to see the best in people, but that didn't mean he didn't see the worst. It was very clear that Kurt had a problem with him, though he wasn't sure why or what exactly his problem was. He hadn't even known what to say to the other boy when he arrived on deck and his greeting had been shot down. He figured that with Kurt, the best thing to do was say as little as possible, instead proving himself through his actions.
Which was why he resolved to make this Stern the cleanest, most sparkling Stern yachting had ever seen, leaving no room for complaint from Kurt or anyone else on the boat, no matter how much work it took.
Blaine was scrubbing the side of the boat, careful not to splash any water droplets on his sparkling silver, when the crackling noise of the radio clipped to his belt tore him from his one-track thoughts.
"Deck crew, deck crew, Kurt. Crew dinner is ready in the Mess. Take a half hour break."
Blaine wiped the sweat from his brow and dragged a hand through his damp curls, glancing at the time on his watch reading 5:27pm. It was really almost unforgivably hot, the sun still high in the sky and bearing down relentlessly on the exposed deck crew.
Between them, he and Finn had made pretty light work of cleaning the Stern. The teak shone, and the white sides of the boat were completely spotless. Blaine was particularly proud of the silver safety railings, glinting across the shimmering water.
"Copy for Finn and Blaine," he heard Finn's voice announce through the radio, before the other man sloped towards him with a tired, goofy half-smile. He raised a hand and Blaine slapped it with the little energy he could muster, matching Finn's grin with his own.
"Good work man," Finn complimented, "I'd say we're looking pretty good back here. Let's go eat. I'm starving!"
The Deckhands headed below deck, too tired from working in the hot sun all day to make much conversation, instead walking in companionable silence. The one thing Blaine was looking forward to was the crew meal- yacht Chefs were typically highly skilled, and their talents extended to preparing stellar food for their crewmates.
He wasn't so thrilled about eating with Kurt, though.
He descended the stairs to the Crew Mess, Finn hot on his heels, and immediately noticed Kurt at the end of the table, toying with his food and looking pensive. Puck sat at the opposite end of the table, already shovelling pasta into his mouth and earning a disgusted glare from Kurt. In-between the two sat Tina- who greeted him with a small wave and a smile- and two other girls he didn't recognise, a blonde and a brunette, the latter chattering endlessly as her food grew cold in front of her. Chef Mike was leaning against the cabinets along the wall, an empty plate in hand, and he grinned as the last crew members reached the table.
"Tuck in, you guys. I'm still waiting for provisions, but I did what I could with what I had. Hopefully it turned out okay," he explained, nodding towards the half-empty serving bowl in the centre of the table and pushing himself off the counter, heading back towards the Galley.
"It's delicious," Puck mumbled around a mouthful of food, and Blaine cringed, watching as Kurt practically shuddered, his fork stilling halfway to his mouth and slowly lowering back down to his plate. The other boy looked tense, his shoulders stiff and drawn and his jaw taut. Blaine found himself wondering how he had fared working on the Bow with Puck after their disagreement that afternoon. Puck looked entirely unaffected as he continued to dig into his food, but it looked like something was weighing heavy on Kurt's mind, his eyebrows drawn together and his mouth downturned.
He hadn't realised he was staring until Kurt's eyes flickered upwards and locked with his, a perplexed frown crossing his face as Blaine tore his eyes away in an instant, busying himself with making up a plate. His skin prickled as he felt Kurt's gaze following his every move, pointedly avoiding his eyes as they bored into the side of his skull.
Finn flopped down beside Puck with his food, and Blaine looked up to meet Tina's eye as the Third Stew smiled and patted the seat beside her invitingly.
"Sit here, Blaine," she declared, "you look dead on your feet."
Blaine smiled gratefully, relieved that at least one person on this ship seemed to be looking out for him, but his happiness was short lived as he realised that Kurt would have to get up in order to allow him to squeeze into the booth-type seating beside Tina. He turned to Kurt hesitantly, and the other boy stood before he could say a word, moving to the side and allowing Blaine enough space to awkwardly climb in beside Tina.
The Crew Mess was rather crowded now, with everyone sitting almost shoulder to shoulder, and Blaine felt Kurt's knee knocking against his as he settled back into his seat. Well, settled was perhaps a stretch- the Bosun seemed even more tense than before, picking at his food with disinterest. He tried to ignore him, ignore the way his skin was tingling where it had touched his, and focus on Tina instead as she introduced him to the other two Stewardesses, Quinn and Rachel, striking up a casual conversation about what they had been doing all day.
Their conversation was interrupted only a few moments later, as Kurt got to his feet without a word, his shoulder brushing against Blaine's one final time. He tipped the remnants of his meal into the trashcan and walked off towards the cabins, the rest of the crew exchanging glances in his wake.
"Jeez," Finn muttered, "what is his problem? He needs to take the stick out of his ass."
"Nah," Puck snickered, "he probably likes having it up there."
Blaine felt his heart sink to his stomach as Finn chuckled, heavy with disappointment. He wasn't exactly surprised, he knew that homophobia was still rife, particularly on deck, but it still felt like a punch to the gut every time- whether it was aimed at him or not. He wondered if he should say something, wondered if it would be morally wrong not to, when Rachel spoke up, looking at the other Deckhands with pointed disdain.
"Excuse me, but I'll have you know that I have two gay dads, and I won't tolerate homophobia in any form, not even as a joke," she admonished, and Blaine felt his heart soar again with relief and gratitude, though the niggling guilt that he should have been the one to speak up was still present in his mind.
To his credit, Finn looked abashed as he hastily mumbled an apology, Puck muttering his own sullen "sorry" in response. There was a moment of awkward silence, Blaine staring into his pasta as though it held the answer to all of life's questions, before Finn rose to his feet, head almost scraping the low ceiling.
"I'm just gonna… uh… go call my mom before we have to get back to work," he explained as he sloped off towards the staircase, sending a warning glance back towards Puck.
"I'm gonna go call his mom too," Puck retorted, swinging himself out of his seat and swaggering towards the stairs in Finn's footsteps, leaving Blaine alone with the girls. The silence lingered for a second before Rachel turned to Blaine, dark eyes almost appraising him before she spoke.
"I appreciate that you didn't involve yourself in that childish display. I know all too well that deck culture can be very discriminatory, and it's nice to see a man with morals strong enough to resist joining in with crude and potentially harmful banter," she said, the words coming a mile a minute, so fast that all Blaine could do was blink in response. He watched the blonde girl, Quinn, roll her eyes from her spot beside Rachel, pointedly excluding herself from the conversation as she scrolled through her phone.
He realised that Rachel was waiting for a response, head cocked to the side as she stared at him with wide eyes.
"I- um, yeah, well… I don't really get involved in… that kind of stuff," he explained lamely, twirling his fork on his plate and avoiding her eyes, suddenly feeling two feet small. This was his opportunity to just come out and say it, to be completely transparent with the crew who over time would hopefully become friends, and perhaps even family. But he couldn't find it in himself to say it, to tell her that the reason he hadn't joined in with the teasing, the reason that it had made him feel nauseous even to witness, was because he himself was gay.
He didn't really understand why he couldn't say it. He liked to think he was comfortable in himself by now, comfortable enough anyway. He wouldn't have said he was in the closet- his parents knew- not that they were happy about it, but they knew-, and his brother, and his old college friends. He just… didn't like bringing it up first. It wasn't something he felt everyone needed to know, didn't feel like it changed anything to have that additional information. He was just Blaine, and that was all anyone needed to know.
He supposed that his reluctance to publicly disclose his sexuality stemmed from his parents' reaction. They hadn't been impressed, as he had predicted, but he hadn't realised just how nuclear their reaction would be when he came out in his sophomore year of college. His parents, who had always been there for him in their own way, had cut him off, leaving him scrambling to cover his tuition with loans they'd promised he'd never have to worry about.
His dad had never been easy to get along with, strict and hyper-focused on his reputation- and his family's, by extension- but until then he had at least provided for Blaine. Their relationship had always been somewhat strained, disguised with polite civility, and upon reflection he supposed his reaction hadn't been entirely unprecedented. But the betrayal from his mother had stung. Knowing that, in her eyes, he wasn't good enough had been a tough pill to swallow.
But he had moved on, or at least tried his best to. He had taken the opportunity to finally choose his major, settling for the Music course he had always dreamed of. His father had scoffed at the notion when he had dared to bring it up back in high school, and together they had reluctantly compromised- he would enter Ohio State on the Arts and Sciences track, with his major undecided, and he would be following the school's pre-med programme. But medicine was never his dream, and he had no intention of incurring further debt by applying for and attending medical school. No, he had graduated with a degree in Music, feeling a twisted satisfaction in how outraged his parents would be if they found out.
Then the question had been just how he would pay off his debt. His parents had only covered tuition until the end of his sophomore year, meaning he had graduated with two years of loans to pay off. He was in a better position than most, he was aware of that, but Music wasn't necessarily known for being instantly lucrative, unless he struck it lucky. Besides that, graduating had meant that he was essentially homeless, ousted from the campus accommodation he had come to depend on. He wasn't dumb- he had worked for the last two years of his degree, and had some meagre savings put aside. But it wasn't nearly enough to live on and start repayments, and he would rather die than crawl back to his parents.
In a fit of desperation, he had Googled "ways to make money as a college graduate" and scrolled through the results, ignoring the tongue-in-cheek "get a job!" responses. It was then that he had come across yachting, his interest immediately piqued. After a few hours of research, he had made up his mind. He had enough money saved to get to Fort Lauderdale, complete the necessary training, and put himself up in an Air BnB for a while until he found work. He figured he had nothing to lose.
So here he was on M/Y Courage, about to set sail on the Caribbean and see some of the world's most gorgeous islands. It had been almost four years since he had last talked to his parents, and he took comfort in knowing they knew nothing about his life now- they certainly wouldn't expect him to be working on a yacht, of all places.
But no matter how long it had been since he had last seen his parents, the effect of their disappointed stares on the night he had come out lingered in his mind, their harsh words echoing around his head even now as he sat, in the crew mess, Rachel's searching eyes still trained on him. He offered her a feeble smile, ignoring the cold pinpricks of sweat on the nape of his neck, and she looked away, seemingly satisfied with his weak answer. That didn't stop the churning in his stomach though, the bubbling guilt that had accompanied him constantly throughout high school and the first couple years of college returning.
He hadn't had this same issue on either of the other boats he had worked on, hadn't ever really felt the need to acknowledge his sexuality, but he knew exactly what was different about this boat. It was so much harder to ignore with Kurt on board. Not just because he was gorgeous- but oh, was he gorgeous- but also because he made Blaine's gaydar go crazy, and he was pretty sure judging from Puck's comment and Rachel's defensive statement that the rest of the crew were clued in too.
He would be jealous if he wasn't so awed- to see someone like Kurt, so confident and proud and secure of himself in such a position of power was remarkable. Blaine wasn't a fool, he knew that it would've been a lot of hard work to get to that point and achieve that rank of Bosun, gay or not, and he was sure that it hadn't been an easy ride for Kurt. But he had come out on top regardless, and it was as guilt-invoking as it was inspirational. It made Blaine feel ashamed to hide himself away, but the fear of rejection from the rest of the crew outweighed his desire to be true to himself.
"Well," Rachel started, interrupting his internal spiral of guilt, clearly not as done with the subject as Blaine thought she was, "that's very admirable of you. Clearly you were raised well."
He bit back his scoff, thinking of all of the times he had heard much worse than Puck's comment from his father, and smiled weakly at the brunette girl. He was spared from replying when a quick glance at his watch made him realise that it was 5:52pm. Kurt had called them on the radio at 5:27pm, and although he was sure in any other situation, he could safely assume that a half hour break meant rounding up and returning at 6:00pm, something told him that Kurt had meant half an hour exactly. Excusing himself and flashing a small smile at Tina, he got to his feet and turned to the small sink in the counter, washing up his plate and stacking it on the dishrack to airdry.
He turned towards the staircase, whirling around on the spot with his eyes cast downward, intent on getting back upstairs as quickly as possible, when he collided with something instead. He looked up in a panic, reaching out to steady whoever it had been who he had almost knocked into next week, his heart sinking as his eyes settled on Kurt's disgruntled face. Eyes wide, he began to stutter an apology, cheeks burning as he realised his hands were pressed against Kurt's firm chest- becoming even redder when he felt Kurt's hands grasping his elbows. He watched as Kurt's jaw flexed, his lips pressed in a thin line.
"Watch where you're going," he snapped, dropping his hands back to his side and turning towards the stairs, leaving Blaine gaping in his wake before he scrambled along behind him.
Kurt really wasn't sure how this day could get much worse.
It was setting a pretty shitty precedent for the rest of the season, and he found himself already longing for the end of the final charter. No season went by without incident- that was pretty much a given, but still… they usually had a much more harmonious start than this.
He hated to say it- but already his new position as Bosun was feeling overwhelming. He had felt cautiously optimistic at the beginning of his deck meeting, but that had been dashed by Puck's insubordination. To make matters worse, Puck had continued to be completely errant as they attempted to tackle cleaning and preparing the Bow, his standards clearly nowhere near as high as Kurt's as he left streaked silver and dull teak in his wake. Having to re-do all of Puck's work on top of his own had put them behind schedule, and the Bow had still looked practically untouched when Captain Schuester had called him to attend his first preference sheet meeting with Quinn and Mike.
The meeting itself had set him on edge, too. First off, he had had to leave Puck unattended, and he was fairly sure that he would be returning to see the Bow in worse shape than when he had left it. But then Captain Schuester had handed out the preference sheets and started discussing their guests' requirements, and he had felt his insides twist with worry. The incoming charter guests seemed particularly high-maintenance- which wasn't unexpected, but so far, he didn't have much faith in his crew's ability to cater to them appropriately. It would be a miracle if the boat was even presentable enough to welcome guests onboard- if he had made such little progress on the Bow, he could only imagine what a disaster the Stern must be. He had almost screamed in frustration when Mike had caught him after the Captain's dismissal and informed him that dinner was ready down in the Mess. Another half hour of no progress. More time he couldn't afford to lose.
Then there had been the matter of dinner, where he had been forced to sit listening to Puck's disgusting slurping noises and Rachel's incessant chatter, only to end up stuck next to Blaine- Blaine, who looked annoyingly carefree as he chatted aimlessly with the Stews about how busy he had been all day, as if Kurt didn't have a thousand things to do by morning. He had been all too aware of his presence in the cramped Crew Mess, his muscles tightening with every slight brush against Blaine's shoulder, or knock against his knee. Eventually he hadn't been able to tolerate it anymore, and he had escaped to his cabin in an attempt to calm his racing mind.
He hadn't missed the snide comment made in his absence. He had frozen in the narrow hallway, leaning against the doorframe of his room, straining to hear what the crew were saying about him only a few feet away. He had felt his stomach clench with rage as he heard laughter, wondering who it had come from- Finn or Blaine? -, before he heard Rachel's voice- he couldn't quite make out what she was saying, but her tone was one of admonishment, and he felt a newfound respect for her creeping in. A few muffled, mumbled apologies later, and he had scrambled into his room just in time to avoid being seen by Finn and Puck as they hastily made their way upstairs. He had deduced that it must have been Finn who laughed, and he pushed away the hurt- sure, Finn had seemed like a good guy, and he was certainly very handsome… tall, and dashing, with kind eyes and a goofy smile… but Kurt knew better than to assume the best in anyone. It was always nice to be proven wrong, but this way meant that it hurt less when people let him down.
He had spent the rest of his break stewing in his cabin, trying to distract himself with mental lists of all the things he still had to do before the arrival of the first charter guests. He had resolved from that point on to approach everything with a new resolve- he could do this. He was the Bosun, and he deserved to be. All of the derision and snarky comments only fuelled his desire to show everyone exactly what he was made of, and smile while he did it.
But then, to top everything off, he had decided to head back upstairs to the Bow, and Blaine had turned around with no regard for anyone around him and crashed right into him, and his resolve had broken, replaced with sizzling anger.
He stalked upstairs, Blaine's footsteps echoing his own as he climbed the stairs behind him, and made his way through the Galley, meeting Mike's friendly wave with a forced smile. Stepping into the Salon, he caught sight of Finn and Puck and made his way towards them.
"Time to get back to work," he instructed, careful to keep his tone light, "we can keep going until 8:00pm. Let's get this done."
He started towards the Bow, glancing back to ensure Puck was on his feet and showing signs of joining him.
"Hey, um, Kurt?" a voice called behind him, and he turned around to see Blaine hovering in his wake. He painted on a fake smile, tilting his head in question.
"Yes, Blaine?" he asked, watching as the Deckhand swallowed hard, nervously stuffing his hands into his pockets.
"Well, um- Finn and I are done up on the Stern, so… what do you want us to do now?" Blaine enquired, looking apprehensive as his dark eyes searched Kurt's face. Kurt felt a bubble of shocked laughter forming in his throat as he studied the other boy incredulously.
"You're done?" he questioned, a humourless chuckle slipping through his lips, "you're… you're done. You cannot possibly be 'done.'"
He sighed as Blaine blanched almost imperceptibly, those hazel eyes widening again, a note of panic flickering behind their amber glow.
"Fine," he exhaled, "let's go see, shall we? I'm in for one hell of a charter season if my crew is so efficient, they can flip the entire Stern in a couple hours. You must be some kind of Deckhand prodigy."
He turned and stalked towards the rear of the boat, aware of Blaine beginning to stammer behind him, but choosing to ignore him, easily shaking him off with long, purposeful strides.
He reached the boat's magnificent Stern, looking around thoughtfully as Blaine caught up with him, looking slightly lost for breath and a tell-tale curl breaking free from its hair gel hold. He had to admit, at first glance, it did look promising- although he was sure that was down to Finn, no doubt. The teak gleamed, reflecting the low glare of the slowly setting sunlight, and the silver rails were sparkling, the glimmering reflection dancing across the rippling water. The white sides of the boat were polished immaculately, not a single scuff mark or water stain, and the windows-
The windows.
The windows were dull and smudged with fingerprints and salt residue and God knows what else, clearly untouched since the previous crew's final charter. Kurt felt the anger and frustration rise as he rounded on Blaine, jaw clenched.
"I thought you told me you were done?" he questioned, his tone clipped, narrowed eyes focused directly on the Deckhand, who looked at him with uncertainty, worry clouding his eyes.
"I- I thought that we were," he explained, looking less sure of himself by the second, "I mean, are… is there something else? Did we- "
"Look at those windows," he snapped, "if that constitutes 'done' for you then clearly we're going to have some issues this season. Maybe you're not used to it on the boats you worked on before, but on yachts like this we have standards. The windows should be so clean that the guests shouldn't even be able to tell that we have windows. That is a disgrace. Do you seriously think that that is okay? That that is the level of cleanliness people expect on this kind of boat?"
"I- no, no, of course not," Blaine stammered, "I just- I thought that Finn had already done the windows, he said that he would while I did the silver, it was just a miscomm- "
"No, stop right there," Kurt interrupted, holding out a hand to stop the other boy, "rule number one is own up to your own mistakes. Don't try to pass the blame. I don't care who was supposed to do the windows, you were the one who came to me and told me that the entire stern was done without checking with your partner. That's not a 'miscommunication', that's a total lack of communication, and it's not good enough. You can finish the windows yourself; Finn will be helping Puck and I on the Bow. I suggest you get started now."
Blaine stared at him wordlessly, eyes flickering back and forth and mouth opening and closing as he tried to think of just how to respond. Kurt raised an eyebrow and then jerked his head towards the windows, his lips pressed into a thin line.
"I know I said that I suggest you start now, but it wasn't a suggestion. It was an order. Go," he ordered, lifting his radio to his lips as Blaine finally seemed to come back to life, scrambling to the supply closet and mumbling a hasty "copy, on it now".
"Finn, Finn, Kurt," he spoke into the radio, hearing his own stern voice crackling out at him from the radio clipped to Blaine's waistband, "you can go ahead and join Puck on the Bow for right now, Blaine is finishing up on the Stern."
He cast one last look at Blaine, fumbling around in the closet with chamois and glass cleaner and shaking hands, and walked off towards the Bow, Finn's "copy for Finn!" crackling through the heavy silence and heavier mood.
Blaine sat alone in the crow's nest, the glowing lights of the city behind him and the expansive nothingness of the still sea ahead. A light wind ruffled his loosened curls, carrying with it the faint music spilling from the bars and restaurants along the seafront.
He stared out towards the black water, but his eyes weren't truly seeing- instead he replayed the day's events over and over, the image of Kurt's disdainful stare imprinted on his brain. His body ached, his hands and feet tender and blistered, and the back of his neck already glowing with the tell-tale too-hot sting of a budding sunburn. His shoulders slumped as he sat, almost folded in on himself, shrouded in utter misery, sniffing furiously and scrubbing at his eyes as a single tear forged a salty track down his cheek.
Somewhere far below, he heard voices- joyful, carefree voices, and a peal of laughter. His crewmates were toasting their first night together, the first of many, the first and last with no guests, no expectations, no pressure. For most of them, anyway. Blaine was certainly already feeling the pressure of his Bosun's high expectations- even thinking about it caused the pressure to build behind his eyes again, and he blinked rapidly, taking a deep, shuddering breath.
He had put his everything into scrubbing the windows until they shone and had almost burst into tears when the only feedback from Kurt had been a steely look and "fine. Go knock off. Be back on deck at 7am sharp."
He hadn't though, had managed to keep it inside- until now. Now, tucked away in the highest point of the ship, as his carefree colleagues partied below, he couldn't contain it any longer. The tears fell freely, dripping down onto his navy polo shirt as the wind carried off his sobs across the Caribbean.
This wasn't how this was supposed to go. It was day one, it wasn't supposed to be like this. He couldn't understand Kurt's problem- people liked him, people always liked him- so why not this one? What had he done to make such a terrible first impression on his Bosun?
He briefly found himself wondering if it was even worth it, if he should just catch the Captain now before he retired to bed for the night and inform him that he wouldn't be joining him on charter. But why should he? Why should he let one bitter Bosun ruin his experience, ruin any chance he had at progressing in the industry just because he was on a power trip?
Blaine scrubbed at his face once more, taking a deep, steadying breath, and cast one last look out at the water. Straightening out his shoulders, he got to his feet and began the descent from the crow's nest. No, Kurt would not get into his head. He would follow the Bosun's every order with a smile, and take satisfaction in how it infuriated him, and he would come out of this charter season stronger, and better, and primed to move on to even bigger and better things, leaving Kurt behind the same way he had his parents.
And if his superior ever did manage to get to him again, well- there was always the privacy of the crow's nest to cry in.