Thank everyone so much for your thoughtful reviewing! I love reviews! I adore the amount of support I have gotten for this fanfiction; and I am extremely sad to announce that it's almost over, according to my plot-plan. :(

(I may, however, consider writing a sequel. Maybe. If I get an idea for one. No promises.)

19: Don't Worry, Be Happy (Bobby McFerrin)

As Ryan twisted his hands in his lap anxiously, he silently thanked the lord that their father owned a private jet, and that no one could see him like this. He was alone, wishing he had been able to convince Kurt to come with him to LA (but he had a paper due for one of his classes that even after they pulled an all-nighter was not finished). Then again, did he really want Kurt to see him like this?

He was a mess; his fingers were constantly moving; tapping on the window or the armrest of his seat, fiddling with his hat or his jacket buttons, scratching his neck or rubbing his brow. He was sweating profusely and he felt as if his skin was on fire. He was tapping his foot, mumbling his lines, practicing facial expressions, attempting to make himself cry— he was an excellent actor, of course, but he was starting to doubt himself when he couldn't get his tear ducts to do their job.

"Cry, damn it," he swore quietly to himself, pinching his arm, hard, to cause pain enough to make his eyes water. "My baby brother just drank antifreeze. He's dying. Cry, Ryan!"

Relax, a little voice in his head (that sounded suspiciously like Kurt) said, take calm, soothing breaths.

He found himself relaxing on principal, laughing at the sarcasm Kurt had used when saying those particular words. There was nothing wrong with the idea, though— and yoga had helped him through many a stressful situation...

Instinctively, Ryan took Kurt's long-forgotten advice; he went through his weekly yoga class's breathing exercises, and the arm movements they included. It made him feel better.

"Buckle up, kiddo, we're landin' in ten," came the familiar voice of their family pilot over the intercom. Ryan sighed and did up his seatbelt as instructed, silently cursing Kurt for taking up so much of his time over the last few days. First the shopping trip, then the mandatory food and coffee breaks, the requested nightly make-out sessions— which really, Ryan couldn't turn down once Kurt sprung those puppy-dog eyes on him; honestly, who could have resisted those?— and other activities that had taken his time away from practicing the days before his audition.

As the plane landed, bumping along the concrete runway, Ryan realised that he felt exhausted, even though it was only mid-morning, but more importantly, he felt unprepared. He had no idea what to expect from a real Hollywood audition; would they tell him flat out whether he got the part or not? Would they send him home with no intention of calling him back, leaving him none the wiser? Or, would they leave him to sweat it out while they deliberated whether he was cut out for the role?

Ryan was in a daze as he got off the plane. He and the pilot, Frankie, went to lunch at a nearby diner; Frankie insisted he looked pale, and that there was plenty of time to grab a bite before his driver would even arrive. There was very little conversation, though Ryan knew that Frankie was only hanging around to keep an eye on him until he turned Ryan over to his driver, a man that the Evans family kept on their payroll for their many trips to the City of Angels.

His driver parked outside the establishment and waited patiently for Ryan to finish his luncheon (and why shouldn't he? Ryan's parents were paying him by the hour) before loading him into the stylish vehicle and whisking him away in the direction of Coppola's Ryan finally thought to turn his phone back on during the car ride, he realised he had three text messages from Kurt asking if they'd landed yet.

He tapped out a quick reply; "Landed safely, on my way to see Coppola now"; and waited for Kurt's answering message of, "Good luck, Ry" before tucking his phone back into his pocket.

He exited the car and looked at the building in front of him for a long moment. It was a tall structure, with sparkling glass windows that seemed to go on forever; the front garden was immaculately kept, with trimmed bushes lining a walkway to the entrance, and a fountain expelling a thin stream of water from an angel's bow; the entire building expressed an air of importance, and Ryan's breath caught. It was beautiful.

After the momentary shock of actually being there wore off, he looked at his watch. He was a good two hours early, but he had been anxious to get there on time and had hurried. After taking a deep breath to calm himself and adjusting his hat, Ryan strode forward toward the doors of the building with his head held high with purpose and confidence. He was an actor, after all.

"How was it?" Kurt asked quickly, tapping his fingers on the edge of his desk, trying to keep the worry from his voice. When Ryan had left, he had been in quite a state; his nerves had been so bad that he had become increasingly jittery until he boarded his plane, his arms shaking when he gave Kurt a good-bye hug.

"It was... amazing. The minute I started reciting my lines, it was like... like the world went away. I didn't forget any of my lines, and I cried like there was no tomorrow! I'm pretty sure I nailed it."

Kurt chuckled, feeling the tingling of joy begin in his heart. How could he ever have been jealousy of Ryan? His voice solidified how happy he was to have done well in the audition; and, because of that, Kurt was sure that his boyfriend had gotten the part. There was no way anyone could turn Ryan down after he turned on the waterworks, after all.

"Only 'pretty sure'?" Kurt joked, his smile real for once. All the anxiety he had been feeling on Ryan's behalf was slowly ebbing. He heard Ryan sigh heavily into the phone. "Gee, Ryan, I don't know if that'll be good enough..."

"Fine. I am positive I nailed it," Ryan grumbled facetiously, "Are you happy now?"

"Yes." His smug tone made Ryan sigh again. "Now, seriously. You didn't faint or throw up on them? I am so proud of you."

"I'm sort of proud of myself right now."

"Only 'sort of'?" he joked.

"Aren't you supposed to be writing a paper?" Ryan reminded him after a groan at the previously-used humour. "DiBucci will kill you if it's late you know. He just about tore Jackson a new one when he didn't hand in his dissertation on time."

Kurt sighed and stared at the screen of his computer, which was open to said unfinished paper. The curser blinked at him tauntingly at the end of the last sentence he'd written. It was like his computer was making fun of him. "I know what I want to say, but the words just aren't coming to me."

"Well, babe, you'd better figure it out. Frankie says we're due for takeoff in twenty; see you in a couple hours?"

Kurt sighed again, looking at the clock. "Sure. When you get back we can take a dinner break."

"Only if you're finished your paper."

"I hate you."

"No you don't. I'll call you when I land, sweetheart."

"Bye, Ryan." Kurt hung up his phone and looked dejectedly at the screen, willing his brain to form the next sentence. It didn't. The task seemed just as insurmountable as it had before, and the words he needed to express what he wanted to say were just as elusive to him.

"He said I couldn't take a dinner break till I was done," Kurt mused out loud, closing his laptop and tucking it protectively under his arm. "He didn't say anything about not taking a coffee break." His feet took him on the familiar journey to Mocha Rocha, where he set up his computer on one of their well-worn tables and set back to work. Coffee always made him work better, anyway.

Later that evening, Ryan found Kurt in the same spot; perched on the edge of his chair, his fingers pounding away at the keys. He had three empty cups beside him, and a manic look in his eyes as he hurriedly finished his work. He had obviously gotten over his writer's block.

"Sweetheart, slow down before you give yourself carpel tunnel," Ryan told him gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. Kurt jumped visibly, looking up for a moment to meet Ryan's eyes before quickly going back to his writing.

"Hold on a sec, I just need to finish this paragraph, and then I'm done..." His fingers typed his closing argument, his eyes set on the screen. "I can't believe I didn't think of this before. Coffee is a Godsend."

Ryan chuckled and ordered himself a latté, sitting down beside Kurt and patiently waiting until the smaller man had finished his paper. After he'd written his final words, he looked across the table at Ryan with unfocussed eyes.

"Hey," he said, softly closing the lid of his laptop (after making sure his work was saved, of course), "I'm assuming that since you did well, they said something positive?" Ryan shrugged, sipping his drink.

"Nah. I just have a good feeling about it. They said they'd call me." He smiled, and Kurt felt his head spin.

"And you aren't freaking out? What's gotten into you? I haven't seen you this calm in weeks."

Ryan shrugged again. "I guess since I got it over with, there's really nothing to be worried about anymore. There's nothing more I can do. Either I get it or I don't. Obviously, I hope I get the part, but if I don't, is the world gonna stop turning? No." He paused to take another long drink from his latté, savouring the rich flavour. "Preparing is the hard part, performing is the easy part, and waiting is just kind of... limbo."

Kurt stared at Ryan, open mouthed. "Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?" he asked quite seriously, eying the taller man carefully. "Because my boyfriend would never be so..."

"Carefree?"

"Well, yeah."

Ryan laughed, reaching to take Kurt's hand from across the table. "Get used to it, sweetheart. I'm a changed man." He puffed out his chest importantly, rubbing the nails of his free hand across his shirt before inspecting them. Kurt rolled his eyes, but didn't retract his hand from Ryan's gentle grip.

"Yeah, right, and I'm secretly Spiderman in my spare time," he replied sarcastically. Ryan smirked.

"Is it weird that I find the idea of you in spandex really sexy?"

Kurt laughed, standing up and tucking his computer under his arm. "Not at all. I look incredible in spandex." He looked over at Ryan, who quickly put the money for his latté on the table before standing up as well.

"You're going to have to show me, now that you've made a comment like that." Kurt winked.

"Maybe later, but right now, let's go get something to eat. I'm starving." He put a hand on his stomach thoughtfully. "Who knew writing about Shakespeare would work up such an appetite?"