III

~ The Monarch Theater ~

It was Monday morning, and it was the first day of Kurt's work experience. The air was crisp as always and the sun was taking its time to slowly heat up the streets of Manhattan. The city's roads began to once again reacquaint themselves with traffic and New York pulled in its first big breath. However, it wasn't the only one. Kurt stood rooted to the sidewalk, his feet together and his hand clenched tightly to his little man-bag hanging over his shoulder and across his chest. Looking up at the miserable-looking theater standing before him, he couldn't help but judge it critically.

The building had obviously been around for some time as its appearance was anything but impressive, with rusted metal lining the windows and dingy off-white paint that seemed to peel and fall to the ground before him. Well, at least it doesn't look like it's going to collapse on top of me, Kurt thought as he surveyed the poorly maintained yet strong and sturdy-looking structure. If it does, then at least I'll die in a place where Stanislavski would have been proud. Lowering his gaze to his watch, Kurt read the time. It was 9 a.m. and he was set to start any minute.

With a disappointed yet hesitant sigh, the brunet entered the building and walked briskly towards the booking office. A red-headed, middle-aged woman with a kind face and rectangular glasses that he thought had become extinct in this day and age raised her head to the sound of the large door banging loudly back into place. Dammit! Kurt thought, wincing as the echo easily carried through the grand foyer like a gunshot. That's probably created cracks in the ceiling now. The woman, despite wincing at the disturbance but viewing the small spectacle with amusement, proceeded to giggle and flash him a friendly smile.

"Don't worry about the door, honey," she said comfortingly as Kurt switched his gaze from the door to her and smiled nervously, his fingers anxiously fiddling with his jumper. Was he going to be known now as the boy with no special awareness or the boy with no co-ordination whatsoever? Probably, but then again anything was better than the names he'd been called in high school. "First timer's mistake."

"Well, in any case I apologize for having startled you. If I'd known I would have been more careful," Kurt apologized but wondered why a sign hadn't been erected to warn visitors of such a disgruntled door. It was only courteous to the poor receptionist who probably had to experience such a bang every single time it closed, maybe even by people who knew of its violent nature. Glancing back at it with a critical eye, Kurt took in the door's appearance. The once detailed and opulent oak carvings that he assumed would have looked magnificent in its heyday now only resembled an intricate mess as he shook his head in pity, before taking in the sight of the simplistic white marble foyer around him.

"It's all right, sweetie," the woman replied pleasantly as she brought a hand up to rub her still ringing ear. "Just as long as you don't let it happen again, you'll always be on my good side. Now, what can I do for you today?"

At this, Kurt pulled his eyes from the room's faded décor before shuffling quickly towards the desk, adjusting his blood red Lacoste bag nervously around his torso as he did.

"Did you have an appointment or meeting set up with anyone from the theater today or…?"

"My name is Kurt Hummel. I'm the new runner for the production this year," Kurt corrected as he quickly unzipped his bag, pulled out a set of documents that had been neatly protected in a transparent sleeve and handed them over to the receptionist.

There he stood patiently as she analyzed her way through every single piece of paper, flicking over them and scanning every filled out form that Kurt had accurately completed. Thankfully there weren't many of them, but she was occupied long enough for Kurt to once again reacquaint himself with the discolored décor around him. "I don't know whether we spoke over the phone but I applied around two months ago. I've been in contact with the theatre through email, which is how they sent me the forms. Um… I think the date should be on there somewhere. If not it should be-"

"Ah, yes," the receptionist nodded, pointing to a specific document towards the front before placing them all down on the desk. After organizing them back into the sleeve and putting them aside, she pulled out a name tag from a side drawer, scribbled down Kurt's name before handing it over to him, a smile on her face.

Wow, that's neat, thought the brunet as he admired the woman's elegant handwriting, the small loops here and there and the perfect crafting of each letter giving the tag a sense of superiority, as if it had been plucked straight from a high-class dinner table at The Ritz. Pinning the tag (that made him feel as tall as a mouse) to his ivory lace sweater, Kurt looked back up at the woman expectantly, his nervous smile rendering him that much more innocent-looking.

"My name is Martha. I'm the Monarch Theater's receptionist and booking agent so if you have any queries, I'm the girl to come to, okay?"

Martha smiled as she grinned warmly back up at Kurt, reassuring him that bit more that whenever he needed help in the future, there would at least be one friendly face to confide in. It probably helped that Martha was the first person that people met when they entered this place. She was like the light in the dark room, a friendly-looking woman who managed to illuminate a dismal looking foyer into something out from the heavens. "I'll be right here if you need me so don't be hesitant to ask me anything."

"Thank you... Martha," Kurt breathed as he threw her a parting smile before turning around and climbing the grand staircase, if you could call it grand anymore, that is. The iron banister grillwork and ormolu garlands that seemed to have been inspired by the French court of Louis XIV had paled to a dull grey/peach color, whilst the paneling and woodwork that had no doubt been polished down by master craftsmen now only seemed to scream for days gone by.

As Kurt entered the impressively large auditorium, he was met with architecture very similar to classic Art Deco, a design style characterized by the combination of the traditional craft motifs with Machine Age imagery and materials. He'd been trying to place the eclectic look ever since he'd entered the theater and now that he'd pinpointed its primary influence, he now began to notice the rich colors, bold geometric shapes and lavish ornamentation of everything around him. Despite its aged appearance, the beauty still shone through.

Bustling folk were scattered about the auditorium with some shouting out instructions to a group of dancers that were making their way onstage, the loose clothing they were all sporting allowing them more freedom as they began stretching impressively. Towards the front, remaining cast and crew members were relaxing in the seats, with some absent-mindedly munching on their breakfasts whilst others played meaningless rounds of card games.

The atmosphere did, indeed, seem carefree and cheerful but, of course, all of that was ruined by one man with a voice so loud, opera singers would be envious. Shouting rudely through an amplifier, the man of little height with a stomach of muffin top proportions directed the dancers into their positions as the set designers rapidly scurried off stage, their bodies trembling as they disappeared into the ranks. Looks like my thick skin will come in handy again, thought Kurt as he noticed who he assumed was the director, shoving people out of the way as he stormed towards the edge of the stage.

"Cue music!" The director's bellow had the dancers throwing each other nervous glances before the lights dimmed and the music commenced.

Quickly sitting himself down in the seat nearest to him, Kurt began to watch the performance, the melody of Tulisa's 'Young' pumping through the speakers as the dancers began moving their bodies vigorously to the music, all of them perfectly synchronized. The blinding lights were back on and they illuminated every single performer but due to the sheer brightness and intensity, Kurt had to blink to force his eyes to readjust to the sight.

He'd not been on a stage since May and it was a sad thing to admit. He'd missed the theatricality of it all, the action that bustled onstage and even though he wasn't there to perform, being surrounded by drama itself was bound to invigorate his senses into overcoming his NYADA rejection. After all, it did seem like part of the New York welcome package.

However, despite the almost accurate dancing with the odd slip-up here and there accompanied by a painful insult from the director, Kurt had to admit that the performance wasn't the best piece of dancing he'd ever seen. None of the performers onstage looked as if they shared a shred of chemistry with one another. It was as if every single one of them had been plucked from obscurity, crammed together and made to perform choreography after only an hour's practice. Despite all this, though, the whole thing wasn't the worst he'd ever seen either. He didn't know if this performance or number was actually part of the production. If it was, then it could only mean that a musical was not in the midst of rehearsal, meaning he was in the wrong place. Crap, Kurt thought as he began to fret that he was set to undertake the wrong work experience. I'm in the wrong theatre!

Rising out of his seat with the intention of discussing his vital mistake with Martha, Kurt stopped suddenly as a large hand landed abruptly on his small shoulder. The brunet froze. His eyes widened and he looked down at the hand that had prevented him from leaving before raising his gaze to see its owner.

His wide eyes took in a rather good-looking, well-built man with gelled brown hair that had been neatly styled into a small Elvis-like Pompadour. He was wearing a simple charcoal-colored shirt with its sleeves rolled up and his top buttons had been undone to allow a view of his masculine neck to show. Accompanying the ensemble were a pair of dark blue Levi jeans and beige boots that looked as if they had been anchored to the ground in a bold stance.

Wow, thought Kurt as the man looked down at him curiously with grey-tinted eyes. Do excuse me, Indiana Jones.

"Excuse me; are you meant to be here? This is a private rehearsal. No one but the cast and crew are allowed to be here at this time," the man said sternly as Kurt gulped, his body shifting away as he wracked his brain desperately for an answer.

He couldn't believe how naive and shy he'd become since moving here. Back in high school, nothing would have been able to break his ice queen exterior but everything around him now was stripping him fresh, baring everything and hopefully rebuilding him into someone new, someone who wasn't going to freak out at a single statement from an attractive man. "Look, I'm afraid I have no choice but to ask you to leave."

"Oh no, I'm supposed to be here," Kurt replied honestly, taking a step towards the man and looking straight into his face. Removing his hand from the brunet's shoulder, the man made to place it back into his pocket only for it to be snatched up by Kurt and shaken gently but firmly. "I'm Kurt Hummel, the theater's new runner… See?"

Kurt swiftly pointed to his tag which underneath his neatly written name had 'Runner' in small font, causing the man to squint as he peered at it. Kurt didn't blame him for not noticing it at first glance. It was hardly noticeable, what with the lights dimmed in the stalls, and it really didn't help one's eyesight no matter how good it was. Continuing to peer down at the tag with difficulty, the man finally straightened up and blinked, a grin starting to surface on his face.

"Sorry, I didn't see it. The lighting's kind of low around here. I'm Carlson, member of the cast. You must be new to this job as runners don't usually sit in seats and watch everyone else at work," Carlson replied as Kurt bit his lip nervously. However, the man's voice didn't come off as serious, harsh or condescending in any way but more amused, a kind of light-heartedness that seemed to soften any harsh edges his words may have had.

Smiling back in gratitude, Kurt breathed a sigh of relief. He was glad he'd come across a second friendly face, even if it had been more of a struggle due to a complication. Everything now was out in the clear.

"I'm sorry. I'm new to the city and it's just a lot to take in. Plus I've literally just signed in. It took me fifteen minutes to get through your labyrinth of a neighborhood," Kurt explained, motioning to the large auditorium as well as the direction to the foyer. He hoped Carlson would understand or at least take pity on his situation. Getting lost when he'd left his apartment had almost ignited a massive panic attack and it wasn't until he'd rested on a bench and breathed like he'd run for his life, that he'd sought the help of a supportive New Yorker for directions. "I was just admiring the dancers on stage. They're… good."

"You needn't stick up for them, they suck," Carlson laughed as he threw an amused glance towards the stage where the director was by this point in time, throwing mountainous insult after insult at one of the dancers who had tripped over her own feet and violently tumbled off the stage.

Ouch! That's got to hurt, thought Kurt as he observed how rigid the performers had now become, their faces screwed so tight that they now resembled patients of Botox surgery gone wrong. "I mean, only a handful are pros whilst the others are merely novices. By the look on your face I can tell you agree the two don't mix," Carlson explained.

"I've seen worse, don't worry," Kurt assured him as he shifted his eyes away from Carlson to the stage where the fallen dancer had managed to get back on her feet, stumble towards the nearest seat and slump herself in its cushioned comfort. There she clutched at her painful ankle as she attempted to nurse it back to health with what looked like a damp towel. Poor thing. "Actually, I've been meaning to ask if… if this is part of the production, or if it's just-"

"No, it's merely a warm-up for the dancers. It gets them thoroughly warmed up for some of the more complicated routines we have in the show," Carlson explained casually but stopped when he noticed the blank expression on Kurt's face.

This was bad. The pale boy was about to start performing people's errands for the year, start doing what he had been signed up for and everything, yet he didn't even know what production was being put on. It only made Carlson think Kurt was lucky they'd met sooner rather than later. Who knew if the brunet would survive as little as a day in the director's 'Theatre of Cruelty'. "We're doing 'Wicked' this year, didn't you know? You ought to have been told by now, at least by Martha."

"No, I was never informed," Kurt admitted, as he shrugged, before grinning a set of pearly teeth back at Carlson. "However, that isn't bad news to me at all. 'Wicked' is one of my favorite musicals! I've got the CD, the DVD, I've seen the play and I even snuck into the theater to sing on the stage when I was last in New York. No one was around, of course, and it was great, but then someone burst in on me singing 'Popular' and shushed me off. Though they gave me the evils, it was totally worth it."

As Kurt ranted excitedly on about his past with much enthusiasm, Carlson listened intently. He'd never come across anyone who talked about 'Wicked' with this much passion before, mostly because all of his friends and colleagues lived in the Broadway capital of the world, and that musicals like 'Wicked' were staged nearly all the time.

It wasn't shocking. In fact, it was hard to shock anyone in this town. New Yorkers were known to be the most jaded people around, which made it all the more surprising when Carlson found himself enraptured with Kurt's excitement. The boy was obviously a huge fan and usually the greatest fans of anything often turned out to be the wackiest of them all; there was nothing crazy-looking about this one, just golden eagerness. Just the way Kurt's angelic face lit up, the way his sapphire eyes glinted, it would have been impossible for anyone not to have seen the young runner's joy for the production, and what a bonnie runner he was.

"I would be in my second year of university right now if I hadn't decided to do this instead. I preferred to head right into the industry and just get a taste of it all. What you're doing now will be hugely beneficial to you," Carlson said as Kurt nodded, once again biting his lip as if he were attempting to note down the piece of advice in his brain. It sure was adorable and the taller man couldn't help but smile at the boy's trained focus. "If you can sing, act, dance and you know are you good at it, make sure to make yourself known. Don't waste time, talent or looks in this industry because, before you know it, they'll be gone, and regret is one hell of a bitch.

"So, I'm telling you now, Kurt. Even if you're a runner, it doesn't mean you can't continue reaching for the position you really want. Seriously. I don't know if you can sing in tune, act convincingly or dance better than those potatoes up there but one thing I can tell you is you've got the looks. That's a pretty eye-catching face you got there, Kurt."

"Really? You think so? I would have thought the talent would outweigh everything. Even if show business is no better than Hollywood in terms of superficiality," Kurt replied innocently as he looked back at Carlson's smirking face.

He didn't get it. Was this man coming on to him? Was he even gay? He didn't know but it was an inappropriate time, not to mention completely alien. This would mark the first occasion he'd been flirted with since Blaine and it really felt nice, but he wasn't going to let that consume his thoughts. He was here to do a job and a fine job at that.

"Well, thanks, anyway. I guess it's only polite if I return the compliment by saying… you are very attractive yourself."

"Thanks, Kurt. Most straight guys feel uneasy when other guys compliment them on their looks but I'm not like that. You can't afford to be. You have to have an open mind when most guys in show business aren't into the women they sing to," answered Carlson as Kurt's mouth gaped in horror. Bringing his hands to his mouth, the brunet gasped at how he'd just embarrassed himself, Carlson wincing as the boy's pale cheeks flushed the shade of strawberry red.

To Kurt, Carlson may have claimed he hadn't a problem when being admired by men but what if he was just saying that? What if he was lying? Not wanting to wait for a punch to the gut, Kurt attempted to excuse himself but was stopped when the taller man took hold of his hand and stopped him, his face slightly worried.

"No, no, no, Kurt. You needn't feel ashamed or anything. Being complimented on my looks by the prettiest boy I've seen in my life… How could I not like that?"

"Prettiest boy you've ever… oh, so you're now an actor and a comedian. Could have fooled me, you're good," laughed Kurt as Carlson let go of his hand. It seemed to him that the brunet hadn't believed him for a second. True it could be misconstrued in anyone's eyes as a compliment to repair the damage of not telling Kurt his sexuality sooner, even if the boy had merely said he was good-looking, but that wasn't the case. Kurt really was pretty. A pretty boy who lacked in self-confidence. Figures.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to laugh. It seems a bit much that's all. It's just that I doubt I would have been able to get away with telling some boy at my high school he was cute without leaving with a black eye."

"Well, believe me, this place is plenty full of acceptance. Who knows, you might have a boyfriend by the end of the month. Anything is possible in the city, I'm telling ya," replied Carlson happily, his wide smile lessening as Kurt scoffed in derision. Geez, this kid really had no self-belief regarding his appearance whatsoever.

For all Carlson knew, Kurt could have been playing the 'fishing for compliments' card or some other lame game to feed his ego but that wasn't it. There was no ego to feed. All there was was a cheerless glint in Kurt's eyes that seemed to have acted as a tsunami. It had washed away the fire of excitement which had burned at the news of them performing 'Wicked' and nothing was left but damp debris. Nothing.
Determined to solve this problem once and for all, Carlson swiftly obscured the brunet's view, lowered his head and pressed his lips to Kurt's.

Silence.

There they stood, kissing each other with no one in the theater even batting an eyelid. Of course, Kurt couldn't see anything with his eyes having fluttered closed with surprise. He'd let out a little squeak in shock, but he gladly took in the welcome package that clearly had written on it, 'hot man with bonus hot kiss'.

After absorbing a strange, scrumptious taste of butter pecan and vanilla, Carlson brought his head away and looked back at the boy with a stern look, Kurt's eyes slowly opening once again from the ended kiss.

"Look, Kurt. Believe me when I say you are attractive. See, even I had to get a taste of that pretty little pout."

"I... well I..." stumbled Kurt as he blinked profusely at what had just happened. Already a kiss from a man, a straight man! He really wasn't doing too badly here was he? As his surprise ebbed and a grateful smile surfaced, Kurt could only giggle like a little school boy given candy as Carlson returned the grin. The man's plan seemed to have worked like a treat and as both of them looked over at the stage, the song nearly ending as the dancers prepared themselves for the finale, they smiled.

Neither of their attention was on the performance but simply on the feeling of having made a new friend, a record time for the brunet as his grin refused to budge. "Thanks, Carlson, you're really too kind... also, your stubble tickled my chin."

"STOP! Stop this crap right now before the floorboards willingly give way to your graves!"

The director's bark brought Carlson and Kurt's smiles to an abrupt end. The music halted, the poor dancers froze and everyone solemnly turned their heads towards the fuming short man who looked like nothing more than a fat hobbit on a temper tantrum.

In many respects he resembled in character, a male version of McKinley High School's cheerleading coach Sue Sylvester. A woman so consumed by the forces of evil that it was reputed she stirred her tea with children's fingers and wore a necklace of their teeth underneath her tracksuit. Oh, how I loathed that woman, thought Kurt as he tilted his head to the side and squinted, his eyes still focused on the fuming director. He didn't really need a dragon man in his life now that the dragon lady was thousands of miles away, but he'd survived the first round. He could put up with the male equivalent.

"Wow. If you do this long enough his head kind of looks like a baked potato..." muttered Kurt and was snapped out his trance by the sounds of Carlson chuckling. Blushing, the boy's face flushed a light shade of scarlet as he too burst into giggles, their amusement spurring each other on. "Yeah, I tend to mutter my train of thought aloud on occasions. It's one of my more embarrassing qualities."

Kurt had never been able to fully resolve this personal problem, no matter how many times it got him into trouble. Whether it had been handed down by his father or mother he didn't know, but he hoped that one day it would be of use to him when the time arose.

"I think it's cute," admitted Carlson, recovering slowly from his chuckling fit as the pale boy looked back at him wide-eyed. Suddenly urging Kurt forward with his hand in the curve of the brunet's back, Carlson began directing both of them towards the still-fuming director, the hilarity in Kurt's eyes once again drowning as fear overruled his mind. "Come, let me introduce the two of you."

"Oh no, I don't think so," Kurt disagreed as he stopped walking immediately, his heels digging so hard into the floor Carlson almost walked into him. "The dwarf looks like he's about to blow any minute now."

Laughing, the taller man let out a deep, attractive chuckle that carried itself effortlessly around the large auditorium, but before Kurt could take advantage of the distraction and escape the upcoming meeting; he was once again being led towards danger in human form.

"Hey, Gordon!" Carlson's call captured the attention of the director and he whipped around furiously to face them, his blood-red megaphone at his mouth as if it were ready and waiting to break another set of innocent ear drums. "Come meet our new runner!"

Piercing dark eyes bore into Kurt's with such strength and intensity that the boy could no longer feel his legs let alone the growing dampness of his sweating ass, and as he neared his new boss, he was just about to introduce himself with an extended hand when the megaphone found itself in his face, its depths ready and waiting to devour him whole. Shit!

~ PLEASE REVIEW ~

(But if you wish to criticize, may it be constructive. I'm not going to learn from my mistakes and improve if you vent.)

Author's Note: The song used is Tulisa's 'Young' from her album 'The Female Boss'. I imagined using this to reflect how young Kurt really is at the tender age of nineteen and how new he is to the huge new world around him.

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the characters from Glee since I don't own the show. I'm not earning money from this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I mean only to please whoever stumbles upon my Love Story.

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