A/N: Originally written for kblreversebang. I just wanted to post it on here for my ff followers. There will likely be no other author comments as this was posted in one go. It isn't very long, and I haven't written in a while, so this is me getting back into things. Enjoy some 20s European Klaine!
Kurt needed inspiration.
And it wasn't that he needed some bang on the head, life changing experience in order to jump start his creative process. He just wanted something significant to happen. He wanted to see something, to learn something that would spark his interest and maybe get him to sit at a desk and just—write.
He moved to Paris specifically for that reason. He assumed that living in the cultural center of the world would make it easier to write his second novel, but the opposite happened. The second he'd stepped foot onto Parisian territory, he'd been swept up into a world that was so much more than what he had known in New York—leaving his work behind.
See, New York had been one thing. Moving there had done enough to change the course of his life. He got to open up and see things bigger than himself. He went to parties, he met people, and he wrote. He wrote about everyone and everything, finally stumbling upon something tangible enough to become his first novel: A New York Story
To his surprise, everyone read it. Soon enough Kurt Hummel was no longer Kurt Hummel. He was A New York Story. That's all anyone wanted to hear from him. Sure there were still parties and friends, but the book had taken over that part of his life. There was no where he could go without crowds following him, people quoting his own lines back at him. After at first being flattered by this attention, Kurt soon found himself craving it. He would get irritated if someone would pass by without knowing who he was. It was six months later—sitting in a large, empty apartment—that he realized he needed to get away before he completely lost himself.
So, he left. He left everyone behind and made his way to Paris where at least he would be among other writers and artists. Besides, how could one not love Paris with its quaint city streets and loving atmosphere? He expected a boutique at every corner and a creperie on each street. He wanted so see beautiful women clad in haute couture lounging across from wealthy gentlemen with glasses of scotch.
The stereotype might have been why Kurt was so unprepared for the rowdy underground city that somehow took him under its wing. What he expected Paris to be wasn't exactly what it was, but then again there was an entire life hadn't been expected.
This is how, about a year after he published his first novel, Kurt found himself in the dusty, smoky lounge room where the wealthy came to play and the social climbers came to court. La Belle Époque. It was originally supposed to be a throwback to the days of peace and discovery before The War, but after the American prohibition sent so many of the young and talented to Europe, it soon evolved into a modern lounge.
It was there that Kurt found himself pressed up between Rachel and Elliot, squinting in the dim light, trying to catch the attention of a waiter who seemed mesmerized by a woman two tables away from where he sat.