And you're sitting in the front row: wanna be first in line
Waiting by my window, giving me all your time
You could be my hero, if only I could let go
But his love is still in me, like a broken arrow
but one stray fist hit kurt straight in the eye
CHAPTER six
Chasing Pavements
of I'm Not Gonna Teach Him How To Dance With You
by littlemusings
When Kurt was in high school, he dreamed that being fought over by two men would be the best thing in the world. In his head, before he started dating Blaine, he always imagined the a very handsome lad in a fight against another equally handsome young man, arguing in loud voices (in French) and pushing one another, fighting for Kurt's love while he, Kurt, stood on the sidelines looking dramatic. After he had gotten together with Blaine in high school, he imagined his boyfriend defending him from another cruel, wannabe suitor. Unfortunately, the movies always made these scenarios seem better than they actually looked, and he would have preferred something like that to happen in the comforts of his own home, on his doorstep with the two men attempting to ask him out.
But, no, instead of being hit by his fantasy, he was hit with reality. Blaine and Anthony had broke out into a fistfight for him, and it wasn't as pleasant as he dreamed a love triangle to be. There were no corny, lovelorn lines thrown about, just expletives and fists. And they didn't shout at each other in French. …And they didn't conduct this argument in the peace of Kurt's home, no. They fought right in front of everyone he knew. Well, almost everyone.
Throughout the entire night, Kurt felt the tensions run high between Blaine and Anthony, and it was making his head spin like crazy. He used to think that he would get over being far away from Blaine and being involved in a long-distance relationship by ending said relationship and entering a new one in his new place. Now, despite feeling happy the first time he had met Anthony, he felt bitter and resentful and confused now that Blaine was back in his life.
People always told Kurt he was a very smart, intelligent and incredibly sarcastic young man.
Where was the man they were talking about?
He was sitting in the corner of one of the Palace Hotel's elevators, nursing a bruised, blackened eye and crying freely, hugging himself. He felt pathetic. He felt more alone than ever, despite Finn chasing after him, and his family texting him continuously, asking where he was. Once the elevator reached the first floor, he pushed through a crowd of people – paparazzi, most likely – who were trying to get his picture. He stopped in front of them, furious.
"Don't you people have anything better to do?" he shouted, and then he hurried past them. He heard his elevator open and close, and the other elevator open behind him.
"Kurt!" Anthony shouted.
Kurt just kept on running, running to catch a cab to the only place he felt safe, the only place he deemed his one true haven.
"Come on, come on," Duke grumbled irritably, pressing the elevator button, dragging a drunk Danielle with Blaine's assistance. There were several guards blocking the reporters from getting at them, but it wasn't the reporters whom Blaine was furious with at the moment, as if the fight he just had with Anthony was nothing. He turned to Duke and gave him an incredibly angry look.
"She got drunk," he snapped.
"Mr. Anderson, can you confirm the rumors that you're having an affair with Mr. Kurt Hummel?"
"Fuck off!" Duke shouted to the reporters. "Oh my God, Blaine, you just got sucker-punched in the face and…" his voice trailed off as the elevator opened and they piled in, Duke continuously pressing the close button.
"Blaine Anderson! Are you still in love with Kurt Hummel?"
Finally, the door slid shut and the elevator moved upwards to their floor.
"Look at all the pretty buttons," Danielle hiccupped, laughing to herself as Duke set her down in the corner of the elevator. "Look, Buh-layney, they're yellow! They're y-y-yellow!"
She began to laugh hysterically, falling to her side. Blaine grumbled to himself and sat next to her, his arm over her tentatively.
"First of all, Blaine, you are the craziest man on this planet."
"You guys suggested for me to do this in the first place."
"Well, as you said, now there's a 'fucking media craze.'"
"Well, Duke, as you said, 'don't give a shit,'" Blaine retorted. "How the hell could you let her run off and drink?"
"Driiiiink?" Danielle asked loudly. "Bee, get me one more tequila, and let's party the hell out this fucking place!" she said in a giggly tone, poking his sides. Blaine jolted slightly and muttered 'shit'.
"She's absolutely wasted, Duke. I told you not to let her out of your sight!" Blaine snapped.
"She was being PMS-y and stuff."
"PMS-y and stuff?"
"Pew, pew, pew!" she said quietly, making gun-like onomatopoetic sounds with the cocktail umbrella she was still playing with. Blaine took it from her and stuffed it in his pocket crossly.
"Blaine, you need some ice for your face."
"Yeah, yeah," Blaine griped, "Why the hell was she being 'PMS-y' then? Explain that to me. What pissed her off so much that she actually walked to the fucking bar and drank god knows how many shots?"
"Um. Well, to be honest, I don't know," Duke said timidly. "She was talking about Jamie and seemed angry about her looking at me and stuff…"
"Jamie? That girl's a bitch! A bitch, I must say!" Danielle said matter-of-factly. "Fuckin' microscopic dress and beehive-bun hair!"
Blaine rolled his eyes and looked at his sister, who was looking at him goofily.
"I can cross my eyes, lookie!"
And she did so.
"She is so wasted."
"What are you going to do about Kurt?" Duke asked seriously as the elevator dinged. They were finally on their floor. Blaine helped a pouting Danielle up and they walked towards the siblings' room.
Blaine looked at his manager and friend, sighing and his eyes already stinging. "I don't know."
Duke unlocked the door and led the siblings in. He sat on the couch as Blaine led Danielle into her bedroom. Afterwards, Blaine, after getting into a short shouting match with his sister ("Dan, get into your jeans and t-shirt!" "Blainey, I don't want to! Look at me, I'm a princess!" "Come on, I won't look!" "Bro, you ain't making me go back to Canada with all of them Mounties and shit!" "Since when did you get so profane?"), walked out of the bedroom and closed the door behind him. He collapsed on the couch across from Duke, looking absolutely miserable.
Sighing, Duke stood up, walked to the refrigerator, and quickly wrapped some ice in a towel, handing it to Blaine, who took it gratefully.
"She's asleep now, I think," Blaine said roughly, wincing as the cool cloth touched his face. Duke looked at him nervously.
Silence.
"I don't know if it was worth all the trouble," Blaine said finally. "He didn't say anything half the time. All I got out of this was an unresponsive ex and a beating from his crazy fiancé."
"He ran out of the ballroom. You could have…well…"
"Don't say I should have followed him, because that would have made things worse."
Duke's lips narrowed into a thin line. "What really happened earlier when you two actually held a more than ten minute conversation before the party?"
"He wants to meet me tomorrow, which I don't think is going to pull through anymore."
"You never know, Blaine. You have his number?"
Blaine rummaged through his pockets and pulled out the black contact card. "Right here."
"Text him in the morning."
"Excuse me," Blaine said, gaping at him, half his face covered with the ice pack. "I don't think so. Anthony's such a controlling asshole. He's what Finn would call a…a 'controllist.' He probably took his phone."
"Don't always assume things, my friend."
"Are we scheduled for anything tomorrow?" Blaine asked suddenly. Duke shrugged and shook his head. "Can you bring Danielle back to Toronto?"
"What?"
"Duke, she's intoxicated. She needs to sleep on her way there, and I don't trust her with anyone else. It's a few hours away. She's got to get to her afternoon classes or else my dad's going to throw a hissy fit on Skype later this week."
Duke stared at him in disbelief. "Are you saying that I have to drive her there?"
"Take the chauffer and the car in about an hour. Her bags are packed already, anyway. It's about an eight hour drive. If you leave now, you can be back here by the afternoon. It's just past midnight."
Duke thought for a moment and sighed. "Fine. It's kinda weird that you were yelling at me for letting her run around."
"Mistakes happen. We're definitely not telling my parents. She's turning twenty-one next week anyway and I can't always watch her now."
"I'll take care of her, don't worry. I'll make it up to you."
"Thanks, Duke." Blaine smiled, a tear falling down his cheek. Attempting not to show any emotion, Duke jumped up and down, and walked to Danielle's bedroom.
Duke found Danielle jumping on the bed quietly in her bedroom. Rolling his eyes and closing the door behind him, he stared at her, arms folded, frowning. She was already wearing a pair of black skinny jeans and a loose-fitting white baseball t-shirt with a graphic design of a woman in sunglasses and black, long sleeves. The shirt she always wore back in high school whenever he and Blaine visited Westerville. She was even wearing bright neon-blue wayfarers, and rainbow toe socks.
"You look ridiculous," he snorted. Danielle jumped up in the air, and folded her legs, landing in a sitting position.
She looked at him, her mouth wide open. "Hi, Dukey," she said sweetly. Duke knew underneath those blue wayfarers, her eyes were wide open and extremely dilated. "Sit down right here," she said goofily, patting the space next to her. Duke obliged and sat here, staring at her.
"We're going back to Toronto in a few," he sighed. She pulled off her sunglasses, looking insulted.
"NO! I am not going to school!" she said, standing up on the bed, pointing at him. "Give me another shot. Come on, Dukey, you know you wa-a-ant to," she said, pulling at his tie suggestively, wagging a finger to beckon him forward. Blushing furiously and taken aback, Duke tugged back his tie.
"Dani, come on," he groaned, grabbing her hand. "You have classes in the afternoon."
"Fuck those classes," she scoffed, her hand held in a forty-five degree angle. "I'm in New York, baby!" She looked back down at him and put on her sunglasses again. Plopping down next to him, she scooted uncomfortably close next to him. Duke flinched, but allowed her to close the distance between them. "Duke," she said quietly in his ear, her breath smelling like tequila, "I love you. I love you, I love you, and I love you."
Duke flushed an even deeper shade of red. "Dani," he hesitated, backing up, "Come on, let's go—"
He stood up and she fell forward, face-first onto the mattress. She shot back up immediately. "Go where?"
"…Um…my…um…" he mumbled. "My car."
"Oooh," she said excitedly, clapping her hands together.
Duke sighed in relief. He was making progress. "Come on. Close your eyes, I'll carry you there," he muttered. He held out his arms, and she immediately jumped into them, making him jerk forward uncomfortably, but after a second, it felt comfortable to have her in his arms, smiling right at him. Just when he thought his face couldn't get any warmer, it did.
"Now what?" she asked excitedly.
"Okay…so, close your eyes. I can tell they're open, Miss Anderson," he said gently. She wrapped her arms around his neck tighter. He pulled off her sunglasses quickly, catching her legs again, made his way towards the door. He leaned back and reached out a hand to open the bedroom door and walked out. Blaine was already waiting by the door.
"See you, Dani," he said, kissing his sister's cheek. "Love you, kid. Don't drink anymore."
"Sure thing," she smirked, her eyes still closed shut. "I lo-lo-love you too, Bumble Bee Buckeye!"
"I'll be out later, so just text me when you get back across the border," Blaine told Duke, who nodded. Blaine opened the door to the hotel room and let them walk out.
The taxi immediately halted in front of his condominium building. Kurt threw money towards the driver and hurried out, his heart hammering quickly. He ignored the bellboy's greeting and impatiently pressed the elevator button. He hurried into the elevator, tapping his foot anxiously. "Come on, please," he moaned. Finally, the elevator opened to his and Anthony's floor, and he rushed to his door, fumbling with his keys. He managed to steady his shaking hand and opened the door. He pulled off his dinner coat, threw it on the couch, and went straight for his personal studio.
As always, it was his personal hideaway whenever something happened. He pulled open the smooth, white door, but felt another hand grab his wrist. Freezing in place, he turned around, tears streaming from his blue-green eyes. Anthony.
"What do you want?" he cried, pulling away. He attempted to push the studio door shut right in Anthony's face. Anthony stopped it with his hand and looked desperately at Kurt, eyes red. "Go away!" Kurt shouted.
"Please, we need to talk," Anthony said quietly. Kurt looked at him, his eyes stinging; his punched eye throbbing madly.
"Just look at what happened," Kurt said hoarsely, gesturing towards himself. "Look. Do I look like I want to talk, Marksman?"
"Kurt," Anthony said gently, taking a hold of Kurt's hand. Kurt jerked it away immediately. "Babe, please."
"Don't 'babe' me, Anthony, 'now's not the time,'" Kurt mocked, and he tried with all his might to push the door shut, but Anthony walked before he could.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled. Kurt hugged himself, shaking madly. "I'm sorry, Kurt, I'm so sorry I punched you, I'm sorry I let my temper loose. I'm so, so sorry."
Kurt bit his lip, his chest heaving, letting more tears spill over. Anthony walked towards him and put his hands on Kurt's shoulders. He let go of one and took a finger to pull up Kurt's chin. Kurt shook his head and continued to look down.
Frustrated, Anthony let go and plopped down on the couch, running a hand through his hair. "Kurt, I just wanted to know what that whole thing was about. You disappearing at the beginning of the party, you trying to avoid looking at Blaine—"
"Don't—" Kurt gasped. "Don't say…don't say his name."
"You know you want me to," Anthony said spitefully, his elbows on his knees. "You clearly still love him, Kurt. And not me."
Kurt finally looked up and wiped his eyes. "Anthony…"
"You love Blaine Anderson still, Kurt. I know this. You've never been completely honest with me. I always see it in your eyes. Despite how tough-as-nails you present yourself to be…ever since I asked you to marry me, you started to become more distant."
"How?" he mumbled, walking slowly and sitting next to Anthony.
"After being your boyfriend for two years, Kurt, I know you," he said bitterly – though there was a hint of amusement in his voice. "When we started dating, you seemed lost. Like…like there was something holding you back."
"Really," Kurt said, almost sarcastically. "Explain."
"Do you remember when I first asked you to be my boyfriend?" Anthony sighed, leaning back on the couch now. "You looked startled, speechless, and your eyes were looking elsewhere."
"You remember all the little details," Kurt said, bemused.
"Why would I forget? You pretty much froze and stared at me afterwards and nodded in the coffee shop."
Kurt sniffed, affronted. "Hey, any guy would, being asked out."
"It was a different kind of stare."
"Since when did you become the master of stares?" Kurt snorted.
"Since I met you," he said, looking at Kurt sadly. "I don't know, the way you looked at me, and the way you looked at Blaine tonight…they were two completely different looks."
"One, I always look at you lovingly – it's in my nature, and two, I was giving B…Blaine flabbergasted looks that could only be challenged by Rachel Berry."
"'Flabbergasted,' as in 'oh, shit, I'm still in love with you, oh my god, you're singing for me,'" Anthony said crossly. "And looking at me 'lovingly'? More like 'oh my god, stop talking.'"
Kurt stared at the floor in silence.
"What I've been wondering, Kurt – why did you say yes to me when I asked you to…marry me?"
"I just…I just thought I could…" Kurt began, but the words were caught in his throat. "I just thought I could fill the space that I left myself when I broke up with Blaine three years ago."
Anthony looked at him in disbelief. "So, all this time – I've just been…I've just been a space saver, a placeholder? For him? Come on, what is it that he has that I don't have, Kurt? I honestly don't understand it at all."
Kurt stared at him hopelessly. "Are you seriously asking me that question, Anthony? Are you fucking serious?"
"After all that's happened? Yeah. I have a right to know, especially since I pretty much proposed to you and you said yes, and because of the whole party debacle. Plus the fact that you've been denying little dates and have been locking yourself in your studio every other day since our engagement."
"Oh," Kurt said in a small voice.
"What is it about Blaine Anderson?"
Kurt inhaled and exhaled deeply, his hands cupped together in his lap. His eyes were stinging again, and he said shakily, "You…you just…you just aren't him."
"I'm not Blaine Anderson. That's obvious. He's talented, he's handsome, everyone wants him—"Anthony blinked, holding back tears. "Why, Kurt, why did you do this to me? After everything—"
"Annie—"
"I know I've done some crazy things before, Kurt, but, but we always talked about it. And this—why didn't you tell me before I asked you to marry me?"
"I couldn't bring myself to hurt you, Anthony," Kurt responded. "You…you were the one person who actually believed in me the whole time I was here. I don't know what I was thinking, putting you through all of this…"
"I don't know what I was thinking, falling in love with someone who I know won't love me back as much."
"I did l-love you," Kurt blubbered.
He whispered, "'Did.'"
"I'm so sorry…"
"I'm calling off our engagement," Anthony said quietly, standing up, pulling off his ring. He threw it on the coffee table. "I'm not going to land myself in an unrequited relationship, Kurt. I just can't. And you should seriously know who you want, because the more you do this to yourself, the less of a chance you'll get with Blaine."
"Anthony," Kurt gasped, scrambling to pick up his now ex-fiance's engagement ring. "Please. Where are you going?" he asked, grabbing his wrist.
"I'm going to my cousin's house. I'll be back tonight or tomorrow morning."
"Are you moving out?" Kurt asked.
Anthony gave him a look that confirmed his fears.
And with that, Anthony Marksman walked out of the studio, out of the condominium, and out of Kurt's life.
Or so it seemed.
Kurt fell to his knees and cried.
"Duke?"
"Wait, what, Jamie?"
Still carrying Danielle, he nearly dropped her when he saw Jamie as the elevator stopped on the Villard Ballroom floor on the way down. Jamie's eyes narrowed as she walked into the elevator, standing next to Duke and a seemingly asleep Danielle Anderson. It seemed that the Villard Ballroom had cooled down since an hour ago, and the guests were sent home early.
"What? She's in here?" Danielle snapped, her eyes still shut.
"Shhh, quiet," Duke said desperately. Jamie smirked at him.
"Intoxicated, isn't she?"
"Obviously," he said apologetically, earning him a frown from Danielle. "What happened after we all left?"
"Kurt, as you saw, won't answer his phone, and his parents are looking for him everywhere. I had to make a quick public speech to the media and had to make sure they won't post any photos, which is unlikely."
"Kurt and my brother dated," Danielle said smartly. Duke looked at her, mouth wide open.
"I know," Jamie sniffed.
"You're a bitc—" Danielle began.
Thankfully, Duke cut her off. "—So I guess I'll see you sometime again?" he asked as the elevator finally dinged and reached the first floor. Jamie looked at him slyly.
"You obviously have other plans," she said, now looking at Danielle, and walked out, beehive-hair, black dress, heels, and all.
Kurt, there is a moment when you say to yourself, 'Oh, there you are, I've been looking for you forever'.
Kurt, I'm in love with you. I've been in love with you since the day I met you.
Watching you sing Blackbird this week, that was the moment for me. About you.
Here…I've brought you some roses. I know you probably think I'm cheesy, but, Kurt Hummel, I'm head-over-heels for you.
You move me, Kurt.
You inspire me, Kurt.
Singing this duet with you would just be an excuse to…spend more time with you.
Kurt E. Hummel, will you marry me?
I love you.
I love you.
I love you, too.
Kurt kicked his coffee table in frustration, and fell back on his couch, tears streaming down his face. He saw his iPhone on the floor, the screen blinking – New Text.
He reached his hand out and unlocked his iPhone.
Hey. –B
B.
Blaine.
He didn't know why he did it. He just picked up his phone, pulled out Kurt's calling card, and texted him. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing.
Blaine tossed his Blackberry aside and continued to let the ice melt on his face.
There were three problems in his life at the moment.
First, his sister was piss-ass drunk.
Second, his initial plans went up in flames.
Third, he texted the boy he was in love with.
His Blackberry beeped. Groaning, he leaned over to pick it up again, his heart beating quickly.
1 New Message.
Hey, yourself. Savore Ristaurante. SoHo. 6PM. We need to talk. – K
K.
Kurt.
"Okay, you can open your eyes now," Duke said as they arrived at the limo. The chauffer gave him an appraising look, but Duke mouthed 'she's drunk,' and the chauffer nodded apologetically. Danielle's eyes flew open and she hopped out of Duke's arms and she entered the limo excitedly.
"So, where are we going again?" she asked, holding her head. Duke sat next to her, and the driver shut the door and went to the front. Duke was incredibly happy that the mini-window between the passenger area and the driver area was closed, because he didn't want to embarrass himself or Danielle.
"Remember, we're going back to Toronto?"
"Are you eloping with me?" she said dreamily, leaning onto his shoulder. Duke blinked again and muttered something about never letting her touch alcoholic drinks ever again, and shook his head.
"No, I am not," he said stiffly. "I don't take advantage of people when they're intoxicated."
"Intoxicated, I am not," she said in denial, shaking her head. "You know I love you."
"That's good," he responded, patting her shoulder delicately. Once the rest of Danielle's bags and such were loaded into the trunk, the chauffer began to drive.
"Road trip!" she cheered, and began to search through the mini-fridge in the back of limo. "Duke, there's no champagne. In the movies they have champagne," she pouted.
"What a pity," he smirked. Good call, Blaine.
"Just water."
"Yeah, just water."
Silence.
"I'm bored, Duke. Like, su-u-u-per bored."
"Go to sleep, Dan."
"No thanks, I don't feel like it," she said giddily. "Can I just kiss you instead?"
"Wha—"
And with that, Danielle pulled him by his dark hair and crashed her lips into his with a sudden desperation. Startled, Duke actually kissed her back.
Duke was panicking. After they separated, Danielle smiled at him, and immediately fell asleep on his shoulder. Breathing heavily, he ran a hand through his hair and looked at her.
Oh my god, Danielle Anderson.
Monday / 1PM / The Palace Hotel
Blaine sat up on the couch, his head throbbing and eyesight blurry. He looked around and realized he was still on the couch of the suite's living room, and the television was on with its volume at full blast. He felt around for his phone, and picked it up.
1:00PM
"Oh dear god," Blaine groaned. He sat up, and his head felt like lead. Irritated, he got off the couch and walked like a sloth towards his bedroom bathroom, phone still in hand. It beeped several times.
10 new messages.
Sighing, he opened each and every one of them, stopping at the bedroom doorway.
Dude, idk how to tell you this, but I think your sister just kissed me
Duke. Sent at two a.m.
Ok, she's sleeping now, thank god
I'll talk to u later
Duke. Sent at three a.m.
Bee omg my head fuckin hurts; what did I do last night?
Duke is looking at me funny
It was from Danielle, sent at eight in the morning, and his sister also sent the rest of the messages.
I'm so sorry, buckeye, I'm so, so, so, so, so sorry
Please don't tell mom and dad
I swear you can sign me up for Alcoholics Anon. if you want; I'm so sorry Bee
I promise never to drink again, shit, this hangover sucks
Kick Kurt's ass for me
I really want aspirin right now, but I don't think I have any
Call my cell later – I'll pay for whatever extra shit you have on your monthly bill
Please please please call me once you get my texts, I'm so, so sorry Bumblebee: I love you
Blaine immediately responded with a simple: I got your texts, Dan. I'll call you later. Major headache. Don't worry about a thing. Love you, too. He threw his phone on his bed and rushed to the bathroom to get ready for the day.
Blaine looked at his reflection in the mirror apathetically, turning on the sink. He splashed water on his face and a wave of relief hit him when he realized that he had no bruises, just a minor cut on his cheek. Yet, his back and entire torso felt sore, which reminded him of the fiasco that was last night's party. He flicked droplets of water at his reflection, and immediately undressed and went into the shower, letting the hot water hit his skin.
"To meet him at the restaurant, or to not meet him at the restaurant?" he mumbled to himself, rubbing shampoo onto his curly hair, attempting to get rid of the gel he used the night before. Ugh, I feel gross. "Decisions, decisions. Look at your life and look at your choices, Blaine Anderson."
He finished his shower and got dressed, not caring to put on his hair gel. If I'm going to go out in public later, I might as well attempt to disguise myself. He walked back to the living room and plopped onto the couch, turning the television on. Of course, as always, E! Live was playing on television, and the first thing on the news was, obviously –
"Party crashing! Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel, and Anthony Marksman – a love triangle that rivals historic ones indeed: Blaine and Anthony fight for one Kurt E. Hummel. More later with our special party correspondent, Micah Landon!"
Irritated, Blaine shut off the television and checked his watch.
He still had four and a half hours until he had to meet Kurt at SoHo.
Kurt was furious for four reasons.
One, his fiancé just dumped him.
Two, his eye was aching. He presumed he had a black eye.
Three, his fiancé just dumped him.
Four, he forgot to do his moisturizing routine the night before. Now, his face was red and splotchy, like his bloodshot eyes.
When he woke up the next morning in his bed, alone, the events of the night before reared their ugly head in his memory bank, making his temple throb irritably. He put on his black, silky bathrobe, and shuffled in his equally black, wooly slippers, to his and Anthony's —but now, just his – kitchen.
He had to admit; he missed seeing Anthony in the kitchen every morning, making coffee for the both of them, attempting to sing songs by cult artists.
"Good morning, sunshine."
Kurt shook his head furiously, rubbing his eyes, and made a pot of coffee just for himself. He looked up at the kitchen clock and his mouth hung wide open.
Three o'clock PM. He had three hours to look fabulous, even though he knew he would be hurting everyone all over again, despite how wonderful he looked.
"I need aspirin," Danielle croaked into the phone. Blaine, already dressed in a simple v-necked t-shirt and black suspenders, put his phone down on the coffee table, turning on the speaker.
"As do I," he said, rubbing his forehead. "Danielle, I told you to stay away from the bar."
"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I'm really sorry, Bee."
"Dan, please promise me you're not going to drink there."
"Oh, I sure will promise," she said adamantly. "Oh my God, I have class soon and my head hurts, oh my God."
"Not my fault," Blaine snorted. "Listen, don't call me tonight. I'm going to...I'm going to meet Kurt for dinner."
"What?"
"Yes, Danielle, I am going to meet…Kurt," he muttered, "for dinner. In SoHo."
"He's still engaged, you twat," Danielle gasped.
Blaine gave his phone a simpering look. "We're just having a proper, civil meeting, okay? Nothing…along the romantic lines. I just want to apologize for the problems I caused last night."
"Right, right, then I'll find out in US Weekly that you two were caught canoodling in your hotel room."
"'Canoodling'," Blaine said in disbelief. "Really, Dani, really? What time did Duke leave there?"
"Right after he dropped me off. I texted him, and he replied. Told me he was close to the border. He was acting…um, peculiar. He was all red and shit."
"I think I know why," he muttered to himself.
"What was that? I didn't hear you."
"Nothing, kiddo, I've got to go. It's already four-thirty, and I still need to get down to SoHo."
"Fine. Any news of canoodling and you owe me fifty dollars."
"Danielle!"
"Kidding—ow, my head, shit," she groaned. "Love you, Bee. I'm sorry again."
"Love you too, Dan. And don't worry, I've got you." With that, he hung up his Blackberry, and stuffed it in his pocket. He grabbed his cardigan, Ray Bans, and hurried out of his hotel room.
Kurt was nervous and sitting in his car, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. He was already parked outside of Savore Ristaurante, heart pounding. It was five-thirty, and he was still questioning his sanity and the reason why he was meeting Blaine in the first place. He managed to escape from his apartment building quickly, avoiding wandering members of the press, and he hoped last night Anthony managed to do so, and Blaine, on his way here.
He sighed bumped his forehead on the steering wheel, grabbed his Jacobs bag, and hurried out of the car and into the restaurant.
He was lucky no one was there. It was Monday night, after all. He waved to the manager, who he knew very well, and sat at a back table. A waitress walked over, but Kurt pointed to the empty chair across from him, and she nodded in recognition, backing away and heading back to the kitchens.
I'm insane. I just…I just split with Anthony and…
"Kurt," a voice came out of nowhere. Kurt looked up and saw Blaine standing there, biting his bottom lip, a common gesture he knew him to do when he was nervous.
"Hi, have a seat," Kurt said, gesturing towards the spare seat. Blaine sat down, hands in his lap.
The waitress hurried over and handed them their menus politely.
"Good evening, gentlemen, my name is Cecille, and I'll be your waitress for the evening. Just call when you're ready to order."
Both men nodded politely, and she walked away.
Silence.
"You should…you should try the fettuccine, if you're still a big fan of fettuccine alfredo," Kurt mused, flipping the pages of the menu idly. "It's quite good."
Blaine looked up from his menu and smiled awkwardly. "I'll take that into consideration. Are you still a fan of spaghetti?"
"Blaine, I dated you. You should know that I absolutely love all sorts of Italian food."
The shorter man laughed nervously. "I'm getting the fettuccine."
"I'm getting the spaghetti."
They both burst out laughing. The waitress came over and took their orders.
"He's taking the fettuccine, I'm getting the spaghetti," Kurt said awkwardly, and the waitress nodded, taking down their orders.
"Any drinks?"
"Iced tea for me," Blaine opted, holding up a finger. Kurt shrugged.
"Diet Coke, please," he grinned. The waitress finished writing and nodded to them.
"I'll be out in a jiffy with your orders," she said politely, and walked back to the kitchen again.
Blaine looked at Kurt's fingers. There was no glittering engagement ring.
"Kurt—" Blaine began.
"—Blaine," Kurt responded softly.
"I'm so sorry about last night. I really, truly am," Blaine huffed, looking at Kurt apologetically. "I didn't mean to cause such a fuss, especially at your engagement party—"
"…For an engagement that's never going to result in marriage," Kurt said bitterly, smiling at him sheepishly. Blaine stared at him, mouth agape and eyes wide.
"I—oh my god, Kurt," he stuttered, though inside his heart and mind were both cheering. "I'm sorry."
"I would say 'that's okay,' but it was pretty much my entire fault," Kurt muttered, leaning back in his seat. "Anyway, that conversation's for later. Let's…let's catch up."
"To be honest, this is very awkward," Blaine said, laughing. Kurt looked up at Blaine, smirking.
"Very," he responded. "So…three years."
"Three years," Blaine mused.
Silence, again.
"We've become experts in the silent game, haven't we?" Kurt snorted. They both burst out laughing again.
"In the silent game and in the single's department," Blaine added. "But really, Kurt…tell me about the past three years. You still owe me that explanation," he said seriously. Kurt took a deep breath.
"Of course, I'll tell you."
Author's Note:
FIRST TIME A CHAPTER HAS NOT BEEN NAMED BASED ON INGTHHTDWY LYRICS. WEWT.
Meep. This seems like a filler chapter to me. Rather, a shitty chapter in my opinion, compared to the others, but it's all up to you and what you think. Haha. I promise, the full, proper conversation will most definitely be in the next chapter. STORY TIME WITH KURT AND BLAINE. It sounds like a television show. I'm excited to write it. I'M DONE WITH FINALS. I AM SO HAPPY. I passed them all, so thank you for those who wished me well. AND YUS, DANUKE. Yes, there was Danuke. Oh, how I love Danuke.
DRUNK!Dani and DRUNK!Rachel would be best friends.
UPDATE. I HAVE A TUMBLR NOW. IT'S littlewizardmusings. Ta-daaaaa.
Also, I've created the full soundtrack. Who's interested in a download link? I also need someone to create an album cover, if that's not too much trouble~ (only if you guys actually want an album download, haha).
Again, pardon the not-on-par chapter. I've been busy with school clearance and whatnot. Silly Philippine Typhoon Falcon postponed my last two exams, so I had to study the entire past Saturday and Sunday.
And to respond to Haydee, yes, a lot of Danielle's personality is based on mine. Except the lust for drinking part. I would never drink for I are a good girl, yes I are.
A lot of this chapter was based on my experiences. /corny, yes. (Nothing to do with drunken kisses & stuff, I promise you.)
If you want any updates other than your e-mails from FanFiction, check out my twitter, cheesesamwich.
Love,
Sam
PS. Reviews would be delicious. Keep 'em coming, I love you all for your wonderful words and support.
PSS. SORRY FOR THE LONG NOTE, BUT CastleAddiction, I LOVE YOU, GUHH. I swear, despite how many times she will deny this, she has ESP or something.
PSSS. I have a new one-shot collection started up. It's called "Of French and Notebooks," if you'd love to read it. Full of Klaine goooodneeessss.
DISCLAIMER OF DOOM: I don't own Glee. Or else there would be fluffy kittens. And Klainebows. I don't even own any songs used in this story.
The song in the beginning was Pixie Lott's "Broken Arrow". Buh-rilliant.