First, thank you to JILL for my 1000th review! I will loudly admit I shrieked and did a dance of joy. 1000 reviews? Seriously? Thank you all, you have no idea how much that meant to me! Sorry for the wait since the last chapter. I was going full speed for those chapters, I had to step back. But, we're going to be at a good speed again. I'm calling this UMH part 2 because it is more about Kurt's life in New York than it is about the Klaine relationship. I am making no promises on ships. What kind of writer would I be if I gave it away?! Enjoy! I don't own Glee…
Unlock My Heart
Part Two
Subways, Subcultures, and Submissives
I live in the city of my dreams, New York City. I'm taller than I'd ever hoped I would be, that last growth spurt was a gift. My hair is perfectly styled, of course. What else could it be? My eclectic home is the creative vision of my inner self. Nothing could be more perfect. I'll be attending Parsons soon, surrounded by students who see me no longer as an outcast, but as someone who has something to show them, who has something to say that might just be worth listening to. The best thing about this new adventure of mine, the one thing that could only make life even better, is the lack of a Soulmate to hold me down….
Kurt read the journal entry, grinning at the words of his fifteen year old self. Who knew he'd be so accurate when he had spent page upon page dreaming of what his future life would be like. Maybe he was psychic. Maybe life was really something you could make it. No matter what it was, all he knew was that he'd claimed his life for what he wanted.
He sailed through his small kitchen and to his bedroom. An event he had been waiting for since he'd moved in over a month ago was finally here. It was the day of his orientation at Parsons and he only had three more hours to get ready. It seemed like time ran faster here in New York, not that Kurt was complaining, he just had to be more strategic.
Reaching into the basket containing his socks, he threw a matching pair on the bed. One of his more genius ideas, he had created walls out of giant Ikea bookcases. He had made his bedroom almost half the size of his loft, blocked in by the bookcases. The cubby type spaces were filled with books, pictures, and baskets. So many baskets of varying, but complementary colors. It had cut down the need for dressers, tables and more. Sock basket, bowtie basket, moisturizer shelf, hell the side of the bookcase nearest the kitchen held dried goods and canned items. He'd found a selection of floor tiles that were on clearance at the hardware store and found they'd easily slid into the cubby's and were able to block out one side. Not that he planned to have company, but if he did, he'd still have complete privacy, while still having the utility of the cubby. One of his favorite 'inventions' was in the far corner of his room. One side was a brick wall and one was the black bookcase. Thanks to his father's many handyman talents that he'd passed onto Kurt, he was capable of using a screwdriver. He'd secured a large piece of smooth dark wood up against the bookshelf. A beautiful – discount – wing back chair rested in the corner nearby. Turn the chair around, pull the piece of wood down and voila, he had an instant vanity, complete with lights. He'd snapped a picture of it and sent it to his dad, who'd had only the highest of praise for his carpentry skills.
His entire loft was a picture of beauty and utility from the new bed and flat screen television to the vintage kitchen stools and used rocking chair. No matter that his bank account boasted over seventy five thousand dollars, a number which still blew his mind, he would never stop being frugal. Not just because it was the right thing to do to stretch each dollar as far as he could go, but because it was so much fun. It was a wonderful feeling to look at how well put together his home was or his outfit was and know that he had put not even a percentage of the money into it that most people would.
The first week had been a flurry of activity of painting and cleaning and cleaning and painting. He was a pro at the whole process by now as the blisters on his hands had been able to testify. But the loft looked clean and airy, just as he'd wanted. He had literally scrubbed every brick, shuddering at the thought of what could have possibly have been living on it. Other than the hard physical work, he discovered he enjoyed the small parts of being an adult. He paid his rent a full year in advance so no matter what happened, he had a place to live. He had the utilities put in his name, he got a cell phone and he grocery shopped. Sure he'd done all of that for his dad and Blaine, but it was different now. It was just him. He didn't have to get the large steaks for his dad or the pound and a half tub of hair gel for the man who represented a troll doll without it. It was what he wanted and needed. It was fun to only have his favorite foods and his products in the kitchen and bathroom. Though, because he was an excellent host, he had put together a guest care package complete with toothbrushes and a selection of fine shampoos and skin care products.
During the nights, when he hadn't just passed out from exhaustion, he had spent hours talking with his dad. It had taken a long time to convince his dad that his pain levels were steadily going down even throughout the hard work of fixing up his loft. He'd purchased multiple ice packs and at one point he'd strapped one to his hips as he scrubbed bricks just to get relief. He was glad he'd had no roommates because he would have had to threaten them with bodily harm if they'd seen him during those embarrassing moments. His father worried endlessly and only when Kurt threatened to text him pictures of his bare ass did Burt finally give in and trust that his son could take care of himself. He was glad his father hadn't actually asked for the pictures seeing as there was actually something to see. Still. He didn't understand how it was possible, but he retained fine white lines all over the pale cheeks of his ass. If he wasn't vain enough to look at his ass from different angles, the light never would've hit it right to reveal the minute scars.
Kurt had asked about Blaine one time and one time only, and that was only to find out if his dad was being harassed. Apparently Grandfather Anderson had hired a private investigator. A dick, his dad said, with a chuckle. After talking with Burt once, the detective had left him alone and Burt hadn't heard anything else since then. That was all Kurt wanted to know and Burt seemed to know that.
Finally dressed in the black skinny jeans and boat necked silver and lavender striped top, he sat at his vanity, switching the light on. He gave his new hairstyle a tousle, laughing at his reflection when he pictured Mercedes face if she could see his carefree way of styling his new cut. It was almost identical to the one he'd worn during the New Directions performance of "Born This Way", with a messy, uneven style. He'd had his new hairstylist bleach the last inch of the tips before dying it a brilliant violet. He didn't know how he would feel about dyed hair much less violet tips, but he adored it. The color was bright and fun and if styled correctly, brought out a new vividness in his blue eyes. He spritzed his favorite scent at his wrists and collarbones. The last step was clasping his homemade leather band across his Mark before grabbing his wallet, phones, and keys before running out to the subway.
He admired his band, the dark gray leather with the silver stitching, of his own design, creating a picture of fabric sheers. The leather he'd found had minute holes in it to allow air flow which he soon discovered was much appreciated on hot New York afternoons. When Parsons had stated in their introduction letter that Marks were not to be shown, he'd thought about having to wear long sleeves all year long. He soon discovered that covering Marks was a common occurrence in New York, as he'd noticed during his jaunts around the city. Parsons declared that attending their school was about the craft and the art, it was not about soul mates or Dominants or submissives. None of that mattered. It was about the learning, nothing more. In fact, other than medical emergencies, if you were spotted with your Mark exposed or were heard discussing designations during class times, you could be written up. Kurt could not have been more relieved. It was something he'd always wanted. To be seen as Kurt Hummel. Not sub Kurt. Not soul mate Kurt. Just plain Kurt Hummel, though there was nothing plain about him, of course.
Kurt arrived with plenty of time before orientation. He'd spent several days taking the subway to Parsons at different times of day just to make sure he knew exactly when to leave and what train to take to make sure he was prompt every day. The quad area near the auditorium was filled with banners and flyers advertising everything from babysitters and dog sitters to roommates needed and fortunes told. Kurt chuckled to himself as he walked around reading the different advertisements. Stopping at a bright blue flyer, he grinned at the name of the band offering auditions. Ideal Misfits wasn't the most eye catching name, but when he saw the phrase "See what we mean!" he looked closer and noticed the circle around the name wasn't a solid line, it was print. The definitions of ideal and misfit were written and he laughed out loud, shaking his head, instantly able to appreciate the sentiment behind the name. Ideal: Satisfying one's conception of what is perfect or most suitable. Misfit: A person whose behavior or attitude sets them apart from others in uncomfortable or conspicuous ways. It fit Kurt to a tee. He was sure the band would be quirky and creative to have gone this route. Behind him he heard the doors of the auditorium open and on a spur of the moment decision, he snatched one of the phone number tabs hanging on the bottom.
. . . . . . . . .
The orientation had turned out to be a lot of fun. It started with making fun of those who didn't pay attention. If someone forgot something to cover their Mark, they were given a horrendous, fluorescent pink, knitted legwarmer to slide over their arm. Needless to say, they were easy to pick out of the crowd and most faces matched their new cover. He discovered, happily, that the average class size was only fifteen students which he knew would make his education that much more in depth. It would also prevent one of the many flaws of McKinley, letting students sink into the background. They were sorted into different groups and were able to get to know those who would be their classmates. He ended the Parsons orientation with a coffee date! Of course, everyone in the orientation gotten some kind of date. The freshmen were entered into a mentoring program with a junior or senior to help with anything from directions to a class to a study buddy or finding a tutor. They would also be assigned group projects with their mentor that both would be graded on. The program had been in place for five years and it had a proven success rate. At the end of the orientation, the mentors were brought into the room and matched up with their freshmen.
Kurt gulped a little when he saw his mentor. He was gorgeous. Taller than him by several inches, he had beautifully sculpted inky black hair with deep blue highlights on one side that brought out his silvery gray eyes. He was wearing cranberry slacks with a navy blue v-neck t shirt, which Kurt approved of.
"Kurt?" the man said, his voice smooth and warm.
"Um, yeah," Kurt said, offering his hand. "Kurt Hummel."
"Hello, Kurt Hummel, I'm Elliot Gilbert," he said, smiling and shaking Kurt's hand gently.
Elliot walked him to Parsons campus coffee shop, Yards of Java, where they got drinks and sat down. Kurt found out that Elliot was a twenty two year old junior and taking Fashion Design, like Kurt, but specializing in Costume Design.
"My dream is to design in the Haus of Gaga," Elliot raved.
Kurt sighed happily. "I just want to live in the Haus of Gaga."
They giggled together. They seemed to do that a lot, finding they shared many a common passion when it came to their art. Elliot took him through the mentoring program, what he could help him with and what he couldn't. They traded numbers and email addresses. Elliot made sure to let him know that he was open for meaningless text conversations.
"I actually appreciate it. I am new to New York so I don't know many folks here. Well, anyone actually, other than my landlord," Kurt admitted with a smile.
"Can I ask where you're from?" Elliot's gray eyes were warm and curious.
Kurt gave the answer he'd decided on when it came to sharing about his past. "Middle America," he said with a groan and an eye roll.
Elliot laughed and nodded. "Gotcha. I'm from New Jersey," he said, exaggerating an accent. "So probably much better than Middle America and all their corn."
"I see you've been there," Kurt quipped.
"Indeed," Elliot returned with a grin. "I've been to Iowa. Or one of those four letter states."
They shared more light details and gossip before parting ways. Elliot said he'd text him later just because he could and Kurt couldn't help but feel comforted by that. On his way to the subway, he called the number of the band coordinator and within minutes of talking to Dani, he had an audition for Saturday at noon.
When he realized it only gave him two days to select a song and prepare, he screeched and ran from the subway to his loft, his mind working busily.
. . . . . . . .
After narrowing his musical selections and eating a light dinner, he was watching a new episode of a reality show when his phone beeped.
Elliot: Can you believe she just got eliminated? What is that judge hag thinking?
Kurt laughed out loud, not even wondering how Elliot knew what he was watching. It didn't matter. At the same time he felt a stinging behind his eyes. He didn't realize how much he had missed having a friend to complain about a show with. He and Jeff had only texted a few times since he'd moved. Nick and his dad had agreed that Kurt should wait at least another month before contacting his old McKinley friends. Just in case. Of what, none of them knew, but it was better to be safe.
Kurt: I don't know what she was thinking, but damn what a statement her hair is making!
Elliot: No kidding. She broke so many laws between that hair and that skirt. Maybe we should burn her at the fashion god's stake.
Kurt: I'll carry that torch. Hey, can I ask you a question?
Elliot: You just did.
Kurt: Seriously?
Elliot: You just did again. You're really good at this, you know!
Kurt: FML Do you like singing?
Elliot: Right there alongside my passion for designing.
Kurt: Same here. Okay, I have an audition with a band Saturday. I'm freaking out about what to sing.
Elliot: Fun! What kind of band?
Kurt: Seems Indie or just damn creative.
Elliot: Have I heard of them?
Kurt: I don't know. Have you?
Elliot. : Ahhh, paybacks
Kurt: Indeed. The band is Ideal Misfits. I'm not part of the band scene so I don't know if they're well known.
Elliot: Oh I know them! Their lead singer is so freaking hot, he melts my hairspray!
Kurt: Good to know!
Was it also good to know or at least have confirmed that Elliot was gay? It was always good to know when he had a gay ally.
Elliot: Based on what IM sings, I'd say just sing whatever speaks to you. That'll come across to them. One hint. Don't try and search for their videos or anything. Go into this blind and fresh. You don't want them thinking you're only trying to spew back what they already do.
Kurt: That's really good advice. Okay. Choices, choices, choices.
Elliot: You've got this, Kurt.
Kurt: And…. What if I suck?
Elliot: Not possible. Did you see your outfit today? You're a man who knows what fabulous is.
Kurt: Ok, you're forgiven for the whole question thing.
Elliot. Yes! It was totally weighing on my mind.
Kurt: :P
Elliot: Go to bed. You have an audition to prepare for.
Kurt: Take your own advice old man!
Elliot: Ouch! That actually hurt!
Kurt: Yeah, the truth does that.
Elliot: Our burgeoning friendship is now over.
Kurt: Ok, fine. I'm sorry. And to prove it… Oh man this hurts… You have better hair than me.
Elliot: …. You're forgiven.
Kurt: Yay! Ok, now I'm going to bed.
Elliot: Oh, and Kurt?
Kurt: Yeah?
Elliot: I already knew I had better hair.
Kurt: GUH!
. . . . . . . . . .
Kurt jerked up in bed, raising his hand to his face and feeling the tears streaking down his cheek from the dream he'd been having. Turning on his lamp, he pulled his knees up under his chin. It surprised him sometimes that he still missed Blaine and the friendship they'd had like in the dream. They'd been together, sort of, for almost a year. How much of that was spent actually liking or caring for Blaine was another story. During the good times, though, he really had been a good friend. They'd had so much in common and many nights had been spent laughing, sometimes to the point of tears. He didn't remember much of how Blaine was during the last of their time together to judge how he would be now. He didn't think he really cared. The last time he'd opened his emotional bond was when Blaine had forced it open with his rage. After he'd left and his Mark had cracked, there hadn't been anything else. He was still feeling as physically strong and he felt himself occasionally drawing on Blaine's energy, but that was it. It was as close to being pre-Blaine and pre-Mark as he could be. The only thing that remained was the damn need to feed his submission. He would still end his yoga sessions with time on his knees, just to feel that elusive peace. And just as he had each time before that, he hated himself just a little bit for enjoying it.
. . . . . . . . . .
Kurt nervously wiped his hands on his navy leather pants, straightened his dove gray button up, and prayed his light layer of eyeliner hadn't sweated off before knocking on the door. The address had led him to this loft and now he was doing his best to not puke all over his black ankle boots.
The door opened and a woman with waist length blonde hair with fire engine red mixed throughout greeted him with a smile.
"Kurt?"
"That's me. Are you Dani?" he asked, hoping he didn't squeak.
"I am. Come on in and meet everyone," she said, ushering him through.
The loft reminded him of his own, just bigger and more modern. He saw other band members, he assumed, sitting around, messing with instruments. Standing next to the drums was probably the tallest man Kurt had ever stood near, at least six and a half feet tall. His skin was as dark as coffee and his dread locks had streaks of orange around them which made him look like a tiger. He looked up and smiled at Kurt who held back a small gasp as they drew closer. As if this giant was animalistic in his beauty enough, his eyes were a stunning shade of hazel green.
"Max, this is Kurt, he's our big audition for the day," Dani said.
"Nice to meet you," Kurt said, shaking the man's hand, almost unable to see his own, lost in the large man's grip.
"You as well," Max said, giving him a friendly smile. "Good luck today."
"Thanks," Kurt said with a deep breath.
"Don't worry about it," he said, patting Kurt's shoulder. "You'll do fine. Just keep breathing, it's one of those necessity type of things."
Kurt laughed, a much needed relief from his nerves. "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind."
Dani pulled him over to a woman strumming her guitar. She was the opposite of Max, probably barely five feet tall. Her shoulder length exaggerated bob was cotton candy pink. He was starting to think it was a band thing to have colorful hair. At least he fit in here.
"This is Sam. Sam, this is Kurt," Dani introduced.
"You have gorgeous eyes," the small woman stated, getting right in his face.
"Well, thank you, you do too," Kurt said, looking into her very close lilac eyes.
"Thanks. Mine are contacts, are yours?" Sam demanded, if possible, getting closer.
"Nope, all natural here," Kurt said, not letting himself back up. It seemed like she was measuring him as a person.
With their toes touching and her head right even with his chest, she finally smiled. "Good to know. Nice to meet you Kurt! I'm Sam and I'm the cofounder of Ideal Misfits," she said, her tone was downright perky.
"Nice to meet you, Sam," he said, trying to keep up.
"Don't worry about her," Dani said with a grin, leading him away. "She's like that with everyone. I think it's a height insecurity thing."
"I heard that," Sam called out.
"I know, dear," Dani said. "Okay, we're just waiting on our lead singer, AKA his Highness, to finish fixing his hair."
"For the tenth time," Max rumbled.
"Why don't you sit, we're going to sing for you first. Then you can sing for us. How's that?" she asked, leading him to a chair.
"And it's not his Highness, it's Starchild," Kurt heard from behind him. "And I've been told I have the best hair, so no complaining Max."
Kurt turned and shook his head with a laugh. "And as this old guy said a couple days ago, our burgeoning friendship is over."
Elliot laughed as he took in Kurt's look. "Looking good, freshman. I like the liner, it brings out those gorgeous blues of yours."
"Of course I look good, old guy. You let me go on about the band and the audition! I can't believe you! And you said the lead singer was hot! I may not know you well, but … I can't believe you!" Kurt said, only playing at being offended. Something in him relaxed at seeing Elliot was here. A friendly face always helped a tense situation.
"Well, now you know him," Sam said, jumping up and messing up Elliot's hair. "This is Starchild at his best. And he is hot, but that's just because it's New York in the fall."
Elliot scoffed as the others laughed.
"Starchild?" Kurt had to know.
"A nickname from when I was young. It stuck. So, we're going to sing and then you will. Sound good?" Elliot asked, walking to the microphone.
"Not as good as I will, but okay," Kurt quipped.
"Nice one!" Max called out from behind the drums.
Dani grabbed her bass and after Max counted it out, they started playing.
I'm gonna marry the night
I won't give up on my life
I'm a warrior queen
Live passionately tonight
I'm gonna marry the dark
Gonna make love to the stark
I'm a soldier to my own emptiness
I am a winner
I'm gonna marry the night
Kurt did his best to not let his jaw drop as they continued to sing. They were… He was… He had no words. Elliot – Starchild – had one of the most unique and astounding voices he'd ever heard. He wasn't shy to admit his own voice was unusual, but Elliot probably had him beat. All of them sounded so good together. His confidence level started going down. How the hell could he follow this?
I'm gonna marry the night
I'm not gonna cry anymore
I'm gonna marry the night
Leave nothing on these streets to explore
I'm gonna lace up my boots
Throw on some leather and cruise
Down the streets that I love
In my fishnet gloves
I'm a sinner
Then I'll go down to the bar
But I won't cry anymore
I'll hold my whiskey up high
Kiss the bartender twice
I'm a loser
As with most of Lady Gaga's work, Kurt could see a correlation to his own life in these words. He might be a loser, a sinner, but he was going to live his life to the fullest, he wasn't going to cry or let anything hold him back. And with that, he decided that his nerves could go fuck themselves. He was going to end this audition with an invitation into the band.
Nothing's too cool
To take me from you
New York is not just a tan that you'll never lose
Love is the new denim or black
Skeleton guns are wedding bells in the attic
Get Ginger ready climb to El Camino front
Won't poke holes in the seats with my heels cause that's
Where we make love
Come on and run
Turn the car on and run
I'm gonna marry the night
I'm gonna burn a hole in the road
I'm gonna marry the night
Leave nothin' on these streets to explode
The night! Yeah! The night!
Kurt stood and cheered loudly, clapping for all he was worth.
"You guys are incredible!" he cried out.
Elliot gave high fives to each band member before coming over to slap hands with Kurt. "These guys are awesome. We've all been really lucky to work with each other."
"How the hell do I follow that?" Kurt asked, throwing his hands in the air.
"By putting on your big boy panties!" Sam told him, coming over and smacking him on the back. The woman was small, but packed quite a punch.
"Well, I guess she said it all," Kurt said. He handed over his iPod to Dani who set it up for him.
The band sat down and he walked toward the speakers and took a deep breath. A favorite song, a life anthem, and yes, a song he could sing the shit out of.
Comin' home used to feel so good
I'm a stranger now in my neighborhood
I've seen the world at a faster pace
And I'm comin' now from a diff'rent place
Though I may look the same way to you
Underneath there is somebody new
I am not
The boy next door
I don't belong
Like I did before
Nothin' ever seems like it used to be
You can have your dreams, but you can't have me
Oh, I can't come back there anymore
'Cause I am not the boy next door
You've been savin' those souvenirs,
Faded photographs from our foolish years
We made plans, but they're wearin' thin
And they don't work out 'cause I don't fit in
And those mem'ries will just weigh ya down
'Cause I got no place to keep 'em uptown
I am not
The boy next door
I don't belong
Like I did before
Nothin' ever seems like it used to be
You can have your dreams, but you can't have me
Oh, I can't go back there anymore
'Cause I am not the boy next door, uh!
I'm not sorry for just bein' me
But if you'd look past the past you could see
That I am not….
Nothin' ever seems like it used to be
You can have your dreams, oh, but you can't have me
I can't go back there anymore
'Cause I am not
I am not
I am not… the boy next door!
Kurt opened his eyes after the last note only to see the band look around at each other before they all stood, cheering loudly. Max's bass, Elliot's tenor, Dani's alto and Sam's very surprising soprano were all clear, even in their cheers and applause. He let a grin show as the last of his tension died. Win or lose, he did his damn best. By the clapping still going on and the handshakes and back slaps that came, he was sure he hand nothing to fear.
. . . . . . . .
Marry the Night by Lady Gaga
Not the Boy Next Door by Boy from Oz