The ladder came down with ease, the rust peeling off as it hit the hard concrete. He pulled himself up it and made his way up the iron staircases the side to the fourth story. The french doors had not been disturbed. The curtains were still pulled back to peer into his bedroom, determined by the pulled tarp that hung from a tray a few feet away. He crouched at the window and started to wiggle the outside latches. After a few tugs, one the screws popped half way out. He twisted it out and hid in in the hinge. He gently pushed it in, the door squealing as it did. He paused to listen, only to hear the wind whisp into the silent loft.
He stood up and stood in the frame. Looking around, he didn't see anyone. As he adjusted his scarf though, he stared straight at Santana.
It spooked him.
"So that's how you escaped?" She was sitting on his bed, one of her legs laying straight out while the other one was curled up close to her. Her head was down at her lap.
He swallowed and gazed at her. "What are you doing here?"
Her yes darted up to him, head head titled still down at her lap. "Waiting for a friend."
He swallowed his chuckle. "I didn't think we were."
She cracked a smile at him and gestured for him to come in.
Cautiously, he stepped down from the frame and into the loft. It had a soft glow with a scent of vanilla wafting from somewhere. darting his eyes at the green tarp still pulled around his half of the room, he couldn't see any shadows. His stuff wasn't touched, she was sitting on a made bed of his and the nightstand was turned on.
"No one else is here." She explained watching him. "They all went out looking for you."
He felt a smile slip onto his face. Removing his scarf, and hanging up his jacket on the desk chair, he sat on the edge of the bed looking towards Santana.
"So what do you want? A medal? An award that says 'waiting was the key stupid'?"
She chuckled and pulled up her leg towards her, giving him more room on the bed. "If there is one. But no." Her face turned emotionless. "I want to know what's going on with you Kurt. You're different and I'm not okay with that."
He bit his lip. He stood back up and went to shut the doors. Taking the hidden screw and getting the screwdriver from behind his bed stand, he locked it and stood there. Arms crossed and leaning on the rigid concrete wall, he looked out. The city was grey with a cold ambience. The clouds were drizzling from time to time and there wasn't a bright color in sight of the crowds down on the streets. It was getting to him.
"I don't blame you for not being okay with what's going on, I don't like it either." He kept his gaze to the city. "But I can't let that stop me. I need to do this."
He heard Santana move on the bed. "Do what?" She asked incredulously.
He silently shook his head. "I don't know yet. I just want what they took from me."
Santana moved more on the bed. He heard her stand. "They? Taking something? What are you going off about?"
He turned his head, her face was scrunched up with confusion and anger. "I can't explain it correctly-"
"I can." she sharply replied. "You want to prance around this freaking city carefree while the rest of us worry the hell out of ourselves worrying about your damn health!"
He dropped his arms. "Please Santana, that is not what I want."
"But that's what is happening and you damn well know it." She paused and stared at him. "And you're perfectly fine with it . . . "
Kurt took a step towards her. She backed away from him. "Santana. . ." He sighed
She shook her head and started towards the green tarp. He watched her silently as she huffed towards it and grabbed it. There was a pause and she looked back at him.
"Think about someone else beside your own initiatives Hummel. Cause I can't continue doing this." The tarp covered her and he was left beside himself.
He was thinking of them. All the time. Everytime. But now he was too far to go back. He need to finish this, or it would tear him apart. It wasn't fair how everyone else was whole and he had to act like he was. He wasn't. That night. That attack. That coldness he felt from the city of bright lights and half eaten big apples. It pulled at him, and at certain times, pulled him right out those french doors and towards what waited for him. It was sickening, the way he acted. The way he talked and the distance he puts between his friends now, but somethings can't be shared, no matter how big the space is.
He looked around the room, and then the doors. They were spotless and closed. Breathless, he couldn't breathe right. Standing in his small part of the loft, he felt something crushing down on his shoulders. It nagged at his brain. Finally he grabbed his jacket and scarf again and went towards the windows. It wouldn't be long till the others would know. Eventually Santana would tell. Eventually they would come. Eventually.
The doors opened with the window blustering in after them. It made a chill run down his spine. It was now or never, and he couldn't live with the later.
"I'm sorry." He whispered as he stepped through the doors and back on the fire escape.
His friends burst threw the loft and their voices arose. He was already on the ground, submerged into the crowd and heading towards the subway. He wasn't deterred from his mission anymore, no matter how much pain it will cost him.
The sun traced the top of the buildings, it gave off a warm line. He propped himself on the bench, his muscles strained by the wood. The park was quiet. Fresh dew pillowed onto the trimmed grass. The birds started to twitter and fly out of their perches in the trees.
His stomach rumbled and lurched into an upright position. His legs were stone cold in his jeans and drenched with the night's light fog.