The change in Kurt's demeanour is instant. He drops Blaine Anderson's hand and gets to his feet, his eyes darkening in anger. "You... You bastard!"
"Hmm, I had a feeling you'd say something like that."
"You're ruining me!" Kurt cries. He's aware that his voice is sounding high pitched and hysterical, but he's gone past the point of caring. "Why? Tell me, why are you doing this? What have you got against me? Every show I'm in, you review it and tell the world how crap I am. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel? What it does to my confidence? I was in top form last night, and you know it. Then I read your review and I can't stop thinking about it, with the result that tonight, I was so far off my game I might as well have stayed home."
"You weren't in top form last night, Kurt," Blaine says calmly. "Let me get you another drink."
"Fuck you! I was! That's the best performance I've given."
"Maybe," he says evenly. "But you could be better."
"Why do you hate me?"
Blaine doesn't look at him but at the bartender instead, signalling for another round. "I don't hate you."
"You do! You must, otherwise why would you write such cruel stuff?"
"It's my job."
"No it's not. It's your job to give an objective review of a show, not to single one person out time and again, just to try and make them feel like shit."
He slides another whiskey across to Kurt with a smile. "I'm a dumb hack, remember? Why do you get so upset? I'd have thought you were stronger than that."
"You don't know the first thing about me," Kurt yells, and when other people start listening in, Blaine loses his temper, downing his drink in one and slamming the glass on the bar.
"I know you're a whiny brat, who seems to want everything handed to you on a plate. I know you've probably relied on your face to get you through life and expected everything to fall into place around you, and then you don't know how to cope when suddenly, life doesn't go the way your mommy told you it would- which is your own way, in case that's not clear. I know you need to grow up, and decide if you're strong enough to be an actor or not because let me tell you something, sweetie; you put yourself on the stage for all to see, then you invite criticism and praise all the same. You can't have one without the other."
Kurt is so incensed by his little speech that he doesn't stop to process any of it; he just sees red. He leaps to his feet, grabbing his bag and jacket, and spits right at Blaine Anderson's feet. "Fuck off."
"Come on. I'll buy you dinner."
"What? Are you out of your damn mind?"
"No. I'll buy you dinner and we can discuss this."
"No way! You're the biggest jerk I've ever met! Keep the fuck away from me and stop writing about me in your stupid reviews!"
Kurt storms from the bar, out into the pouring rain, and walks to the subway at breakneck speed. It's only once he's sitting on the train that he finally feels like he can breathe again, only then he discovers he's shaking, and perilously close to tears.
He arrives home, slamming the door behind him and flopping onto the couch where he covers his face with his hands and tries to block everything out. It's useless, of course. Meredith has heard the door slam and she emerges from her room, walks right past him and crosses the room to knock on Anna's door. "Baby cheeks is in crisis."
"Fuck off," he mutters, but he's secretly quite grateful when Anna opens her door and quickly sits on the couch next to him.
"Well?"
"I met Blaine Anderson."
"Did you kick the bastard in the balls?"
"Meredith!" Anna rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to Kurt. "I take it things didn't go well? Was this meeting intentional?"
"No. I had a bad show, like truly awful. I went to drown my sorrows and he came into the bar. He's the same arrogant customer from the coffee shop who tipped me a fifty that time. So we kinda got to talking, and then I introduced myself, and he said he knows who I am, and told me his name."
"And then you kicked him, right?" Meredith asks.
"No. But I did spit at his feet."
"Kurt! That is...well, that's not nice." Anna frowns.
"He's not nice! And you know what? He gave me this speech about how I'm a brat who's always had things handed to him, and relied on my looks to sail through life. Then, after that, when I told him to fuck off, he told me he'd buy me dinner!"
"He asked you to dinner?"
"No no, he didn't ask, he told me," he says to Anna. "That's the point! He makes these wild assumptions about me, writes a load of hurtful crap which dents my already fragile confidence, and then he orders me to dinner like I'm some...some...easy target."
"Ooh, you think he wants to sleep with you?"
"No," Kurt scoffs, much to Meredith's disappointment. "I think he just assumes that money can smooth everything over. You know what?" he says as it dawns on him; "Everything he said about me, holds true for him. He's relied on money, and looks, and charm, as a cover to be able to be as rude as he wants, and he assumes that as long as he smiles or buys stuff for people there won't be any consequences. Well not this time. Not with me."
"He's good looking?"
"He's... Yeah," Kurt admits, much to his annoyance. "He's really striking. Handsome...elegant... I don't know. He has dark eyes, and dark wavy hair which is flecked with silver. He's one of those guys who could look good in whatever, you know? I've only seen him in a suit but I'll bet he's hot as hell when he wakes up all rough with stubble. Bastard."
"Beautiful guy with a heart of stone," Anna says.
"No. He's stunning, but he's not beautiful. Not at all. True beauty radiates from within. You need to have a heart, you need to be filled with good thoughts and love."
"So I'm not beautiful?" Meredith asks, but Kurt kisses her cheek.
"You can be rude as hell but you love me, and Anna, and your family, and we love you too. You're very beautiful, to me. You both are."
He feels warmed when both of them cuddle in close to him; like he's anchored again after coming adrift in a violent storm.
"So what now?" Anna asks him after a time.
"Nothing. I've said all I needed to say, and you know what? I've got closure now. I've met him, and discovered he's just as rude in person as he is in print. He asked me why his opinion mattered so much, but I've just realized, it doesn't."
Stirred Not Shaken runs for six weeks, and Kurt steps up his game as requested. The director, Frank, is pleased with his work and quickly contacts his agent asking that Kurt auditions for his next work, a musical adaptation of The Merry Wives of Windsor. He lands the part of Sir Hugh Evans, a jealous husband and one of the supporting roles. Once again he is overjoyed, and all his loved ones are thrilled for him.
It's a busy time; most mornings, Kurt works at the coffee shop before heading to rehearsals and then back to the coffee shop for the evening shift, serving the never ending rush of regulars. He doesn't see Blaine Anderson again and he is glad. Though he'd like to be able to smugly tell him he's still working, he also can't shake off a nagging feeling that maybe this is the wrong role for him.
"For the first time, I'm beginning to realize why actors let themselves get typecast," he tells Anna one day. "It's not because they're boring, or lazy; it's because they know they're good in a certain style of role and they know they can pull it off."
"Yes, but then again, there's a lot to be said for trying out a variety of roles. If this one doesn't suit you, I'm sure the next one will. You just need to discover what roles fit for you, what character traits give you the chance to excel."
"Yeah." Kurt sighs heavily. "The trouble is, I don't know how to find that out without failing."
The musical opens November second, and heavy snow means his dad can't fly in for the opening. Anna and Meredith are both dancing in another show so for the first time he can remember, he has no one to support him on his opening night.
Undeterred, and determined to make the best of the role he's been given, Kurt walks into the dressing room- this time one large room for all of them- and smiles at the huge bouquet of roses. "Someone's got an admirer."
"They're for you," a girl calls across. "They arrived about ten minutes ago."
"Oh." Embarrassed, Kurt shuts up. He knows his dad will have sent them, and he knows that telling him roses are supposed to be a romantic gift will hurt his feelings. Only, when he opens the card, he sees that the flowers aren't from his dad at all.
"Kurt- Break a leg on your opening night. Wishing you all the best, Blaine Anderson."
His heart racing, Kurt quickly pockets the card, looking around in case anyone has seen. He feels a rush of emotions all at once. Anger, predominantly, but also curiosity and, though he'd never admit it to himself, a little bit of pleasure.
He wonders if this means Blaine is in the audience, and he finds himself fervently hoping not. Maybe the flowers are in place of his absence, he thinks to himself, which calms him somewhat. The last thing he wants is another scathing review when he's feeling so unsure of his role in the show to start with.
But of course, he is there, and this time he is waiting for Kurt to emerge from the stage door, no less. It is snowing hard, and Blaine is wearing a thick gray woollen overcoat with a red scarf, and carrying a black umbrella. Kurt scowls at him, zips his jacket up to his chin, and purposely walks off in the opposite direction.
"You're welcome," Blaine calls after him. "For the flowers, I mean."
"Fuck off."
"Is that your standard issue response when people try and talk to you?"
"No. Only you." Kurt stops and turns around with a glare. "Thank you for the flowers. Satisfied?"
"Don't you want to know what I thought of the show?" Blaine asks when Kurt starts walking again.
"I'm sure I'll find out tomorrow."
"I think you and I got off on the wrong foot."
He stops again. "No, Mr Anderson, we didn't. There was never a right foot for you and I. As long as you continue to try and sabotage my career, I don't want to know you. In fact, I don't want to know you anyway. You're rude, self-centered and arrogant. Now leave me alone."
Kurt walks off quicker this time, but the snow is slippery and he suddenly loses his footing, landing on his hip with a hard smack.
Of course it is Blaine who comes to his rescue, still seemingly entirely unaffected by the heavy snowfall. He bends, offering his hand, but Kurt takes one look at his face, with the smug smile playing on his lips, and he shrugs him off, getting to his feet by himself.
"Don't touch me."
"Are you okay?"
"What do you think?"
"I think..." He stops, and gives a small shake of his head. "Can I buy you a drink?"
"No! Look, I don't know how many times I need to say this to you, but I hate you. You're the most horrible man I've ever met, and I don't want you near me. At all. Ever."
"Wow." Blaine gives a low whistle and takes a step backward. "You're a little shit, aren't you? I bought you those flowers to try and say sorry for the last time we met. I've thought about it a lot and I felt like I shouldn't have let rip with that little speech like I did. However, given your attitude and the way you've spoken to me, maybe it was no more than you deserved. I was genuinely going to buy you a drink and talk about the show with you but I won't bother. I'll save it all for my review. See you around. Or not, hopefully."
Predictably, Blaine's review is scathing, though surprisingly he does offer one solitary line of praise, or it sounds like praise coming from him, anyway.
"It's good to see that Kurt Hummel is getting a steady stream of work. Maybe in time, this wide variety of roles will help him to hone his talent and make better use of his skills."
For a moment, Kurt is rather pleased, but then he realizes this is Blaine's way of throwing him a bone, and he's nobody's dog, so he goes back to loathing him once more.
The musical makes a transfer; not to another state, but to another country. London, England, to be exact, and with encouragement from his dad and roommates, Kurt agrees to play the same role there too, and in January, heads to England for a three week run.
The reluctance and uncertainty set in almost as soon as he arrives. He finds himself staying in a rundown apartment with Frank, the director, and two female cast members. There are only two rooms, but Frank tells him he's happy to share. Given that he's not paying, Kurt feels he can't really speak up and say he hates sharing a bed with anyone, or that he likes to have time alone, and neither can he afford to go and rent somewhere else on his own, so he smiles and agrees, burying his unease and reminding himself to be grateful that there are people looking out for him.
London is different to New York. It's smaller, more friendly and certainly an intriguing place to be, but it confuses him. He doesn't get enough time to explore it properly, meaning he has no choice but to follow Frank everywhere, though Frank doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he seems only too delighted to take Kurt under his wing, but Kurt can't shake off his nagging doubts about Frank's motives.
After a week of rehearsals with new cast leads, on opening night, Kurt feels like he might either explode in rage or cry if he doesn't get some time apart from these people. It's not that everyone isn't nice- it's the opposite. Everyone is sweetly charming and happily upbeat, convinced they're all part of the greatest theatrical experience known to man. And Kurt doesn't know them well enough to feel like he can be himself. There's no one to really laugh with, or gossip with, or discuss cute guys with, and despite constantly being surrounded by people, Kurt feels quite lonely.
The first performance goes well, but Kurt is disenchanted with the whole thing by now, still entirely convinced he's in the wrong role and, feigning a headache, he leaves right after curtain instead of heading out to the pub, deciding he'll just have to pay out for a cab fare home.
"Good evening, Kurt."
Kurt feels a sudden rush of elation upon seeing Blaine Anderson waiting by the stage door, not for any other reason than it's good to have a sparring partner, and someone who won't put on any pretences around him. Then he frowns.
"You flew all this way to taunt me?"
"I wanted to see the play."
"You mean you wanted to try and sabotage my career."
"Do you read any of my other reviews, Kurt?"
"Of course."
"No you don't." Blaine takes a step closer, looking him right in the eye. "Because if you did you'd know two things. One, I frequently fly places to review shows, particularly London. I'd say at least once a month. Two, I'm renowned for being a particularly scathing critic, and notoriously hard to please. So don't take it personally, because everyone gets the same treatment. That's why I'm not liked."
"Don't you care that your comments hurt people?"
"I gave up caring about anyone a long time ago."
Intrigued, Kurt raises one eyebrow. "Oh? How come?"
"Because."
"Because why?"
"Just because, now drop it," Blaine snaps angrily.
"Fine. Whatever." Kurt gives a curt nod in Blaine's direction. "Thanks for coming. No doubt I'll read all about it."
"I'll buy you dinner."
"Why? So you don't have to go back and sit in your hotel room all alone?"
Blaine smirks. "I'm very rarely alone in a hotel room."
"Is that supposed to impress me?"
"It's supposed to piss you off."
"It doesn't. It makes me pity you."
"Then indulge me. Let me buy you dinner."
"No."
"Fine. You know what? Ever since we met face to face I've been trying to ask you to dinner or out for a drink so I can talk with you and you'll never accept, so I'm gonna say it anyway. I think you're talented, Kurt, and it annoys me that you assume I hate you. On the contrary, I like watching you on the stage, it just frustrates me that you keep accepting the wrong roles. You're going for quantity over quality and I wish you'd hold off, take a step back and wait for the right part in the right show to come along. Sure, you're getting your name out there, but at what cost? As for Frank Fisher, you know he only wants you in his bed, right? That's why he keeps casting you in everything."
"That is way off the mark," Kurt snarls angrily, but the realization hits him as he says the words out loud.
"It's true and you know it. Now let me take you to dinner and we can talk more."
"Now who wants me in their bed?"
"Not me. Sheesh, I've probably got twenty years on you." Blaine laughs, which does something funny to Kurt's insides, and makes him look away.
"I have to go find a cab."
"I'll walk you."
Once again it's a declaration rather than an offer, and Kurt realizes Blaine has lived his whole life used to people doing his bidding. They walk out to the main street in silence, and Blaine quickly hails a cab, holding the door open for him.
"Your carriage, sir."
Kurt pauses, one hand on the door. "I thought I was a shit?"
"Oh you are." He smiles briefly, but it's quickly replaced with a frown. "You're the biggest brat I think I've ever met and you frustrate the hell out of me, but I'm capable of being polite, unlike you."
"Dinner," Kurt snaps, feeling the heat in his cheeks. "Tomorrow."
"Fine. I'll wait at the stage door."
He closes the cab door and walks away, and it's only when Kurt arrives at his apartment that he discovers Blaine has left fifty pounds on the seat to cover the fare.