2: Good Morning Sunshine (Aqua)
Kurt had never been a morning person, in any sense of the word. It sometimes took him three hits of the snooze button just to wake himself up enough to haul his tired body out of bed. The first morning of classes was the same as every other morning, and he had to push himself out of bed, in spite of his boiling excitement. Why, after four years of having to wake up at six in the morning for high school, had he picked an eight o'clock class?
He groaned and forced himself to get ready, his mind still asleep. He was a walking zombie as he stumbled around the half-lit, unfamiliar dorm room, and he thanked the heavens he had chosen a single room, rather than have a roommate to potentially trip over.
He was still rubbing his eyes and yawning as he strode purposefully across the courtyard between the residential hall and the lecture building. He was stuck with two choices— an elevator or a staircase. In his exploration of the campus the day before, he had chosen to take the elevator and planned his route accordingly, but he was so tired he figured the best way to wake up would be to take the stairs. It was only three floors, after all.
He started by climbing the stairs one-by-one, letting himself enjoy the experience. But he watched his feet and began to jog on the second flight of stairs, and by the third, he was panting. He was almost at the top when he suddenly hit something— or rather, somebody— and had to grab the railing for support so as not to fall down the stairs.
"Dammit," that somebody cursed in a voice that suggested they'd had the wind knocked out of them. "Sorry, sweetheart. Are you all right?"
Kurt looked up in surprise at being called 'sweetheart,' but the retort he had planned on giving to this careless person died on his tongue at the sight of him. He was tall, blonde and blue-eyed, dressed impeccably in a pair of fitted white pants, red button-down shirt with the top three buttons undone and a white jacket. On his head was a white fedora with the red initials 'R.E.' embroidered on the side, set at a jaunty angle to the left.
"Uh..." Kurt paused, trying desperately to think of something intelligent to say. "Yeah, I'm okay." That was the best he could come up with?
"Sorry for bumping into you," continued the blonde young man, as though he hadn't noticed Kurt was having trouble breathing, "I just realised I was on the wrong floor. I'm Ryan, by the way. Ryan Evans." He extended his hand and gave Kurt a sincere smile. His teeth were dazzlingly white.
"Kurt... uh... Kurt Hummel." He'd forgotten his last name for a second there, as he was shaking the taller guy's hand. Real smooth, buddy, he thought, his stomach twisting into a tight knot.
It was just moments after Ryan said, "Pleased to meet you," that he was calling "See you around, huh?" over his shoulder and hurrying down the stairs.
Kurt took a moment to compose himself before he followed suit and climbed the last few steps to the third-floor landing, exiting the stairwell as his confident stride returned. He found his class easily and settled into a seat near the front, removing a notebook from his bag and preparing to take notes.
As Professor McNally began to drone about musical theory, Kurt found his mind wandering to a cute young man with blue eyes and good taste in clothes. He was gorgeous. Kurt wondered for a moment if Ryan could possibly be gay, but it seemed like a stretch. No guy that good-looking ever turned out to be gay. It was like a law of physics, or something. And he sure as Hell didn't want to set himself up for another one-sided relationship. Having been told off by Finn for his affections was hard enough. He wasn't about to do that to himself again. No way.
Ryan's first choreography class went exceptionally well, once he managed to find his way to it. There were only seven others in it, besides him and the professor, who was a wonderfully skilled ex-Broadway choreographer. She had great form, and went on to talk of her time with ballet, and how levels and variety in movement can make or break a piece. He was alert and listening to every word, engrossed in the subject as much as humanly possible.
When the class was let out, he felt almost disappointed that he couldn't learn more from her that day.
"Where did you study before Julliard?" asked a small, British dancer with a thick accent. Ryan remembered that her name was Lillian from when they introduced themselves at the start of class. She was pretty, with curly brown hair and brown eyes, and a short but thin frame. She had the posture of an experienced dancer.
"I'm an East High Wildcat," Ryan replied proudly, and Lillian's face fell.
"I'm sorry, you're a what?" she seemed distraught not to have heard of what she thought must be some prestigious American dance academy.
Ryan pretended to be insulted for a moment, then went on to tell her about East High in great length as they walked together out of the building and across an expanse of lawn. They found a tree and sat against it, inquiring about each other's lives before Julliard and interests. Ryan was just happy to have made a friend so quickly, having not known anyone but Kelsi, who was a whole half-mile away on the other side of campus, studying music.
When he declared himself hungry, they went for lunch. They seemed to get on well, and he soon discovered that her dorm room was just down the hall from his.
It was only much later, as he sat at his newly-installed vanity that he remembered the boy he had nearly knocked-over on his rush to get to class. The kid seemed far too young to attend Julliard, though he could have just been small for his age. Either way, Ryan half-hoped to see him again; making friends had never been his strong suit, but hopefully he could reinvent himself enough in New York to do that. No one knew him here. No one knew that he had been picked on his whole life for his love of dance. No one could stop him from being who he was supposed to be anymore. No one.