Hey there update!

Just a few words to mention that this chapter is written from Kurt's POV instead of Seb's.

Thanks for the reviews and everything, you guys are pretty awesome and it makes me want to translate my Glee folder entirely in one night!

xoxo

/

He dodges quickly the row of passers-by who occupy the streets of New York: he's in a hurry, he can't be late on his first day of work, so he doesn't even bother shoving some businessman talking on the phone via headset.

It makes him smile because he has always imagined that they spoke to themselves when he was a child. Having discovered headsets has destroyed many of his fantasies about them being actually crazy.

His phone gives a throb too in some remote pocket of his stylish Dolce & Gabbana, long white jacket that, for some reasons he still doesn't get he shouldn't even be wearing. It's weird: he feels it like a strange behavior, as if he doesn't have to do some things, but he doesn't even know the reason for this ban. However, he knows that's part of the cureat least, so he believes it's totally okay to feel a little confused – it doesn't look like it's a big price to pay right now.

He tries to ignore the small vibrations muffled by the many layers of the clothes he is wearing and tries to hurry up, walking faster and faster. Luckily, the phone stops pulsing after a few seconds, so he can go on without feeling the anxiety of having to pick up the call.

He turns the corner, feeling a slight twinge in his head when his gaze casually finds itself chained to a bench outside Central Park. He has no idea what it's going on his mind exactly, but it looks familiar, very familiar. That, too, is part of the process, then he just simply shakes his head and removes the thought.

The phone begins to vibrate again and this time he decides to pull it off of the pocket.

He unlocks the screen with his thumb and looks down to check the text telling him that he has new voicemail. He sighs, recognizing the number and calls the service, quickly pressing the sequence of numbers required to access his voicemail.

"Message, 4th of November, 2012, at 07:53."

He waits patiently for the beep that signals the beginning of the recorded message and sighs again as he recognizes the familiar voice.

"Hey, Kurt! It's me, Rachel! Hmmm ... maybe I shouldn't call you, I know it's your first day at work, but I didn't heard from you last night and I was starting to worry. Sorry if I'm a bit over-protective, but, believe me, even if you can't understand everything right now, it's sort of necessary. I'm doing this because I love you." Kurt rolls his eyes while he dodges the tail of the dog on the sidewalk. He catches the owner – a guy with a well-build up body – giving him a wink, and immediately turns his face away, embarrassed. "I just wanted to know how you feel, if you've done some weird dreams. It's important that you tell me then, if you can't now, maybe you can call me when you get a break, okay? I love you so much, Kurt. I'm always here for you. Never forget that."

He cuts the call then and sighs again: he has no idea why, but Rachel is totally stalking him lately. He knows that it's all part of a process that he can't and won't obstruct; therefore, simply, all he can do is merely huffing and trying to be patient with her.

He has no idea about what he's doing, or why he's doing it, but he trusts Rachel blindly, so he follows her instructions as if they're sort of a medicine that can cure him from any mental labyrinth that is beginning to form inside his mind.

It's an appropriate definition because every time Kurt is trying to turn in a certain direction in search of the path of memory, he finds himself facing a thousand walls that he's not ready to climb yet.

It's totally like a labyrinth and all that Kurt can do at the time, is walking, running away from something, although he still hasn't the slightest idea about what it is.

Every now and then something jumps into his mind and he's sober enough to deal with this speech with himself. So he knows part of this must be real. He's totally into Rachel's hands, even when he has these moments of realization, because they seem to cause even more intense stabs and he thinks he can't stand the pain if there's no one reminding him why he's doing this.

He has decided to continue along this path instead, trying not to think about it and trying to focus on his present.

It takes a few minutes to reach the building that Rachel has written on a note a few days before and he's quite sure that it's different from any work he had before: he hasn't particularly impressed in his mind the place where he worked before, but he remembers that it was so little if compared to this of high-rise building that is standing in front of him, a modern structure that is already making him feel important, even before he sets his foot in it.

It's completely different from his first job, so he has no idea what to expect. He has no idea about how this is going to change his days, but actually, he has no idea how his days really were before, so the thought is not killing him right now.

He approaches the entrance and crosses the main threshold with no hesitation.

As soon as he steps inside, his body feels relaxed from a powerful air conditioner. It's nice, especially considering the fact that it's cold and icy outside, across the streets of New York, in November. At least he's going to work in a heated place.

Even all the people he meets during the next few minutes seem to be more aware about his situation than Kurt actually is, and although it's a bit frustrating, Kurt just smiles and nods to anyone who comes along or gives him directions, until he finds a young black woman who leads him to the elevator and then back to his office. It's not the type of work he would choose if he had the choice, but he knows he's doing the opposite of the usual anyway, so he doesn't even want to begin to fight it (it's necessary, that's what he keeps telling himself).

All he wants is for his life to go back to quietness and tranquility, and he knows he has keep on fighting because, as dark as the path he's running across is, it's the only road leading towards his aim, so it has to walk straight without hesitation, not even for a moment.

He spends half a day behind his desk, recollecting documents from photocopiers and bringing them back and forth, sending emails of requests, possibly responding at the phone calls service, and office stuff that he has never had the chance to experience before.

Something strange, however, happens during one of his new boss's breaks and that Kurt hasn't yet had occasion to meet: he has been asked to bring him a coffee, simple as that.

It should be an easy task, so Kurt doesn't hesitate before approaching the coffee maker, one of these that are really comfortable for offices because they make it fast and trouble-free. He takes a coffee pot from the lower drawer, and the simple movement gives him a chill that makes him realize that there's something wrong.

He tries to ignore it anyway: Rachel has told him that when he's warned by such a thing, he has to stop immediately whatever he is doing, but he can't this time, because he's working and it's his first day. He can't really object orders the first day.

Then it's suddenly like a wave and Kurt hasn't the strength to oppose to it: his mind gets shaken by a mass of confused memories, so faded that he can't even really become aware of what they are summarizing ('Push it away,' Rachel's voice suggests inside his head, shaken by these apparently senseless thoughts, 'Don't let it come to the surface, push it back at the bottom').

"Hummel?" The woman he has met this morning comes up to him while Kurt isn't even able to move anymore: his arms are outstretched towards the coffee machine, his hands shaking as well as his lips, unable to move to produce any sound. "Is everything okay?"

'Are you okay?' A totally different voice is whispering to his brain - a warm, pleasant, whisper but at the same time disturbing, that sounds a lot like death to him – and it's dangerously distracting him from real life.

It's a different tone, it's warm, sensual and deeply unsuitable in this situation. It's a voice that Kurt knows, but he can't recognize it as if the wires inside of his head have been twisted in tight knots so to block information; a dense net of faded lost memories, momentarily inaccessible to his knowledge.

They make him tremble so visibly that the woman instinctively leans towards him, touching his hand with his own (if Kurt had been sober, he'd probably have thought he was totally acting like a schizophrenic on his first day of work).

Immediately, Kurt escapes the attempt of contact, taking a step back and away from her eyes far too wide.

Still weak and wobbly, he looks around and realizes that the situation is much more embarrassing than he has thought: all eyes, in his new office, are fixed on him. Someone looks at him with his mouth wide open, visibly surprised and even a bit worried, while some others' puzzled expressions makes him realize that maybe someone's really thinking that he's crazy.

Whatever hides inside his head, it has to be a big mess because his lower lip trembles as he moves his eyes from the faces surrounding him to focus on the woman who is still offering to help him, waiting for a coherent response that could justify at least part of his behavior.

A damn coffee is all they've asked him for: what's his problem with a stupid coffee?

He doesn't know and the worst thing is that he can't find it out.

"Hummel?" The woman next to him whispers, while Kurt's lips are still trembling, anticipating a panic attack or something. "Should I call someone?"

He opens his mouth but that increasing vibration of his lips prevents him from producing any sound. He wants to tighten them then, seeing that he can't give any sense to the access of air into his lungs.

"Hummel?" The woman calls again.

'Hummel?' The hoarse voice inside in his head whispers. 'I bet it has something to do with your voice. When you talk it seems like Angels singing in a choir.'

He has no idea what it is or what it's supposed to mean.

It's there though and it's starting to make his head spin dangerously, but still he doesn't get it.

He begins shaking in cold sweat, feeling a shiver down his spine that forces him to shake up the tip of his fingers too. He is probably getting paler and paler, even more than normal, because the woman in front of Kurt leans towards him again.

His ears catch a whistle and he suddenly finds himself bereft of any strength.

The last thing he sees is this same woman, who is now bending towards him, trying to grab him somehow.

/

The smell has become so familiar that Kurt isn't even aware of it anymore. The smell of coffee it's dense but he can't really distinguish it because, you know, when something becomes daily, it starts getting unnoticed too.

If someone had asked him, Kurt wouldn't answer truthfully probably: working in a café-bar can't be anyone's dream, of course, but this doesn't mean he would have confessed his Broadway dreams, because it would only be a reminder of the way he had fallen before he could even arise for the first time. Or rather, the darkness had fallen just when Kurt had thought he was seeing the dim glow of the dawn of hope; it still crashes on the horizon of his existence in an even harshly way.

But still, he is in New York.

New York is everything Kurt has always dreamed of, since he was a little kid. The fact that he should live without the opportunity to realize his own dreams doesn't necessarily mean that he wouldn't see the good side of that whole thing either, although it's difficult to try and give a value to your own existence while you clean a coffee maker, the one meant to be used when the pods are over (when it happens is much like a tragedy, because making coffee takes a lot of time, the bar slowly becomes crowded and Kurt gets confused by the chaos eventually surrounding him).

Luckily for him (but definitely bad for the bar however), it's a lackluster day, then, at eight o'clock in the evening, there's no one sitting on his side of the counter, to get coffee. He doesn't envy Santana, all busy on the other side, intent on making drinks for the costumers sitting in front of her.

He studies her annoyed face for a few seconds before smiling, imagining all the bad words she must actually be telling into her head in Spanish, biting her lower lip not to spit them in the face of her regulars.

"Hey, pretty face." An unknown voice whispers, drawing his attention back to his work.

Kurt turns instinctively, looking at the boy who is just sitting in front of him, on the wood stool.

He tries not to give up to the temptation of admitting how good he looks – such an undeniable beauty that has struck him immediately as an avalanche, without letting him any chance to escape - because he's working, he's stuck in the bar he works into and he can't really flirt. When he's working, Kurt is always very professional.

"Hummel." He clarifies immediately, lifting an eyebrow, when the boy in front of him grins amused. "You can call me that."

Kurt doesn't think this is funny, however, and maybe it's because of his many hours of work, because he's usually a playful person and willing to endure some teasing without being too touchy.

"Hummel?" His is voice suddenly hoarse, low and deep. It's a little forced, but still it's surprisingly pleasant. "I bet it has something to do with your voice. When you talk it seems like Angels singing in a choir."

/

He startles, sitting fast on the bed and breathing a sigh of relief when he finds himself in front of Rachel, who is looking at him, obviously worried. He knows his best friend, he knows it when she's nervous, but this time it's so obvious that anyone would have noticed: she's torturing her lower lip with her teeth, tapping her fingers on her chin. She also seems very relieved when she sees him revive, but it doesn't make the fear disappear entirely from her eyes.

It takes a few seconds for Kurt to realize that his heartbeats aren't regular.

He has been so focused on girl in front of him that he hasn't even noticed the state in which he has awakened: his fingers are shaking slightly, fingertips barely brushing on the sheets of the bed; his legs, running perfectly stretched along the mattress, are loosed and too relaxed, almost asleep; his heart in his chest, beating fast, eager to break out and escape from the cage his body is; his brain is trying to summarize the confused memories, which is already becoming blurred, but he can't do it.

"Kurt?" Rachel's voice is shaking even more than Kurt's fingers, and Kurt is beginning to feel a sense of growing panic, although he's not able to unearth the source, to understand the reason.

He is suddenly in the dark, he feels like someone is mocking him, like he's lost in a labyrinth, one of those you don't come out easily from, one of those you won't even come out from maybe.

"What happened?" He asks, between the gasps - he hasn't even noticed these irregular stops - and Rachel takes a too many seconds to process the question he's pulled it out.

"You passed out."

Of course, as if Kurt hadn't realized that he had lost consciousness. He is confused, yes, but not this much. He lifts his hands, before realizing that his relaxed arms are useful to maintain his body on balance. Then he leans back on the bed.

"I see things ..." He whispers, looking down and trying to remember more clearly, without actually getting positive results. "I see strange things, I ..."

"It's okay, Kurt." Rachel murmurs, taking a few steps towards him and leaning against the side of the bed. "It must have been one of those bizarre dreams they were talking about on TV the other night, remember? Human mind is weird ... "

Kurt nods, scowling uncertainly, not entirely convinced by Rachel's words: there must be a nexus between the cause of his faint and the vision, mainly because it involves a common element. He had begun to feel sick as soon as he approached the coffee machine, and suddenly, it included a vision. It's probably just a joke of his unconscious he has memorized the last thing he has seen before he passed out, nothing more, nothing less.

And yet ...

Suddenly, a pair of eyes - clear, he can't name a color, as the picture inside his head is blurring more and more - made room in his mind, sharp and dangerously attractive.

The birds of prey watch.

Their eyes are as sharp claws, they can see the details that common eyes miss.

This thought absurd, makes him feel a thrill, even thought Kurt has no idea where it comes from.

"Are you okay?" Berry asks, leaning slightly towards him. "You're even paler than usual. You took the pills I told you, didn't you?" She says and Kurt's eyes wrinkle again, and he's biting his lower lip and trying to remember what she's talking about because his mind is experiencing a sudden moment of total blackout.

"Pills ... what type of pills?"

He sees Rachel scowling at his words, but her expression is actually concerned.

"I don't ... Don't you remember?"

Kurt shakes his head faintly, beginning to feel seriously disoriented: if he had to take pills for something – he still has no idea what though - he would remember, right?

It would have been different if he had simply forgotten to take them. But the truth is that he can't even remember that he has to take them and this is definitely more serious.

"I get it." Rachel is muttering to herself with her hand resting under her chin and looking down thoughtfully. "Maybe it's a side effect from pills, or therapy ..." She whispers to herself, but Kurt catches the words, unfortunately.

His chest begins to swell and deflate quickly, while the attack of panic takes more and more real form, invading him fast. It had barely been the first time that he has felt cold sweat and then fainted; he isn't ready for a panic attack.

It's a whole new feeling: uncontrollable agitation that he can't really justify, nor control, and that's pretty much making it difficult to breathe too. He wants to know the source, where it comes from, but he can't understand it.

"Kurt?" Rachel leans towards him just when Kurt's hands have begun to shake more prominently, too obvious not to notice. "Kurt!"

Kurt gets this feeling again: his skin becomes dry, his sight blurred, his lips trembling. He doesn't even notice the moment his eyes swivel and his body falls back, loosening along the bed.

/

"Kurt, honey?"

What's happening?

He wants to know where Rachel is because he is no longer in that room. He's in the living room of a modern-styled all white apartment. He can distinguish the features even if the view is blurry.

"Kurtie?"

The voice suddenly sounds familiar. Hoarse, ironic, exciting.

"Kitten?"

He tries to fight back, but his body can't react to stimulations, he's relaxed against what appears to be a couch. The guy in front of him is shaking him, pressing his fingers on his arms, but Kurt feels so stoned that he barely feels that contact against his skin. Or his clothes. He doesn't know what he's wearing.

"I think I went too much down on you this time." He hears the other boy mutter. "I'm so sorry, honey. I just wanted to play. You should tell me when your head starts spinning, you know? You're making me ... Do I have to call an ambulance?"

His voice is now worried and thoughtful.

Kurt feels a little shaken by the ambiguity of this … dream, isn't it? How could this boy's voice go from sounding so evil to totally caring? How did he even reduce him like this?

"Answer me, babe." He murmurs, and Kurt sees his face - a great blurriness actually – getting closer to his own. "I need to hear your voice."

A breath on his lips.

/

He finds himself startling again, a mild shock that's running through his body, forcing him to open his eyelids.

Rachel is still there, looking at him terrified, scared to death, and Kurt can't imagine how it must feel to see your best friend pass out twice in one day. He tries to speak, but, again, his lips are trembling too much to give voice to the thought though.

Kurt has no idea what has forced him to react this way, but it's terrifying and disorienting enough to get him to lie down again, this time fully conscious.

"Maybe we should go to the doctor ..." Rachel murmurs, considering the idea. "There must be something wrong in the cure and we can't keep it on if it does this to you ..."

Once again, as it often happens lately, Kurt has the feeling that Rachel is letting the sentence drop: he knows what it means. His friend is so talkative that she has to take a deep breath at least before she can control herself and not to mention anything she shouldn't; so her voice trembles for a few seconds longer than it usually does when she fails, just before she's about to say something she shouldn't.

It's a frustrating situation: Kurt is left wandering in the dark, he has now realized that there is something important that he's missing but he doesn't know how that's possible; his mental state is shaky and he has no idea of what it means that he can't properly understand what's happening: there is something he doesn't know clearly. He wants to understand though; he wants to know what's happening around him and to him mostly.

However, he feels like it's not going to happen anytime soon.

He lifts his head slightly from the couch to watch Rachel: she's playing with her fingers - obviously nervous, Kurt mentally pins on the list of clues against his friend - and she keeps her eyes down, probably aware that she abandoned the conversation when she shouldn't have done it.

"Yeah, we should." Kurt snaps, getting the attention of her gaze. "Whatever pill I should have taken, it's pretty clear that I didn't. Also, if I don't remember about it, it would mean, however, that I've been taking meds with several side effects, or that I have some sort of allergies that I've never been diagnosed or something." He tries to explain to her, to put her at ease (Rachel looks like a defensive wall right now, Kurt can't even find anything out unless he firstly calms her down, into believing not to have noticed her hesitation maybe). "I can't take anything without detailed analysis, don't you think?"

He sees biting her lower lip again and wonders if he actually had some analysis, because it would be totally irresponsible of your doctor to give you meds to take without determining the possible consequences, wouldn't it?

"Fine." Rachel murmurs, trying to look up and smile at him. "Stay here, okay? We'll book a visit for tomorrow. "

Kurt just nods.

He sees her moving from the sit and starting to search into her bag to probably take out the agenda on her phone.

Kurt tries to relax, but still feels this voice inside his head: it's far away, an almost inaudible whisper, but still, it's here – beating inside his chest.

The birds of prey watch.

Always.

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