Cold winter turns into spring. The city, which had seemed to be frozen in its own icy clutches suddenly bursts forth anew. People hustle and bustle everywhere, happy and smiling at the feel of warm sunlight on their faces- a stark contrast to cold, dark, snow filled days where the crowds hurry from one place to another, collars pulled tight, heads down against the driving sleet or snow.
Kurt has a spring in his step too, a lightness and buoyancy that comes with passing his acting and singing assessments with the highest grades in his year...plus the love of a certain dark haired man with honey colored eyes who worships every breath he takes. But behind that happiness is frustration. Musical Theatre is hard. Far more work than he could ever have anticipated, and though he excels in two of his three main subjects, he struggles with dance and is in need of extra tuition. His ballet lesson seems to drag on endlessly as he waits to be dismissed...and to run back into the arms of his lover. He beams when that time finally arrives and he can step outside where his phone lights up with a text from Blaine.
I have news. Good news. Potentially very exciting news. I don't know. Am I rambling? I'm rambling. I'll go.
You always ramble. Or cry. News? Where are you? Can this news be conveyed via text or is it face to face news?
Face to face. I'm on the Blue Line. I'll be home in twenty minutes or so.
Me too. Race you ;)
Kurt makes it first, flinging the balcony doors open to let some fresh air into the apartment while he waits for Blaine to return. He follows shortly after, pink cheeked and breathless from taking the stairs two at a time, too impatient to wait for the elevator.
"Oh," he pants as he kicks the door closed behind him.
"Wonderful to see you too," Kurt laughs. He kisses into his hair but pulls back with a grimace. "Ew. You smell of sweaty boy."
"I ran."
"You don't say? I only beat you by a couple of minutes anyway. So, what's this news?"
"First things first. Did you pass dance?"
"Yes, but barely."
"What do you mean by barely? My idea of scraping a pass and yours are two completely different things," Blaine points out as he fetches two sodas from the fridge and hands one to Kurt.
"That's because you've never had to try and scrape a pass at anything," Kurt tells him. They settle side by side on the couch and Blaine swings his feet onto the coffee table. Kurt immediately bats them away, as is their usual habit, and he accepts them into his lap instead. "I got fifty five, fifty is a pass."
"That's not too bad," Blaine tries.
"It's not terrible I guess. But I need to do better. Musical Theatre is about all three. No director will look at me twice if I can't keep pace with everyone else."
"You're a fabulous dancer, and you and your teachers know it. It's only classical you have trouble with."
"Ugh, I know. But that's really letting me down. If it hadn't been for contemporary and jazz I would have failed the semester."
"So take extra ballet lessons then," Blaine suggests, but Kurt is already shaking his head.
"When? They run on a Wednesday and Friday, and I work both of those."
"So switch days, or quit work."
"I'm not gonna quit," he snaps, somewhat tersely. "We're supposed to be saving for a wedding."
"Take private classes on a Saturday then," he tries.
"Why would I do that? I work until two as it is. If I pick up a ballet class, between that and study we'll never see each other."
"You're not going to improve if you don't put the effort in," Blaine shrugs nonchalantly. But Kurt is already on fire.
"No, you're right. I'm not. It's okay for you, you can pick up any damn instrument you choose and play it off the bat. You don't need to practice, it all comes naturally, and what a wonderful gift that is. I'll just sit here, pathetically failing ballet while you tinkle the ivories and everyone marvels at your genius."
"Woah!" Blaine cries, holding his hands up as he moves his feet off Kurt to sit upright. "Where did that come from? I was trying to help you, Kurt. Jeez. If you feel you want to take extra ballet lessons then I'm fine with you not working, or us not seeing each other on Saturday afternoons for a while. That's all. I was just trying to be a considerate fiancé. Yes, I can play a lot of musical instruments. I've been learning piano and violin since I was three, and I was still only seven when I started guitar and trumpet. Other stuff, like drums, I picked up in college. But no practise? You have got to be kidding me. Hours, Kurt. Days, weeks, months of my life have been spent locked away in one music room or another perfecting a piece. Stoically picking it apart, bar by bar and then carefully building it back up again until I was happy with the outcome. I used to sit at the piano in my parents dining room, listening to my friends playing in the street. But I would barely ever join them. I wanted to play football in high school, but I put music first. I never attended one dalton movie night, because I was studying to pass my music theory exams.
I can't magically make you good at ballet, Kurt. I can try and help you...but I can only do that if you're willing to help yourself. You're right, if you want any directors to notice you, you need to be at the top of your game. That means no excuses for not consistently trying your best, pushing your boundaries at all times and working as hard as you possibly can. If you want to do this, I mean really do this, you need to put it above all else."
Kurt lets his head fall back against the couch with a sigh. "I'm sorry. You're right, of course. I hate it when you're right. But you are. And I'm only being a jerk to you because I'm stressed out with it all. You know, some kids on my course are going for auditions already, lining up roles on touring summer productions and I feel so...lame, compared to them."
"Why, though?" Blaine asks as he reaches for his hand. "I've not seen you dance ballet, admittedly, but I have seen you act, and sing...my god can you sing. Your voice is sublime. You could blow them all out the water, I'm sure of it. If you want to audition then do it."
"I want to be a musical star," Kurt says, then smiles as he finds himself blinking back tears. "But I don't know if I'll ever achieve that. I know I can sing. I know I can act. But...who would ever cast me? My voice is too high for most mainstream tenor parts. I don't know where I'd fit. I guess that's always been my cross to bear in life. I just don't fit in."
"You fit in with me," Blaine says kindly, pulling him close and kissing his cheek. Kurt snuggles gratefully into the embrace, happy for the comfort it provides.
"I'm sorry I was mean."
"It doesn't matter," Blaine whispers as he lets Kurt's soft hair caress his cheek. "I understand. I hate to see you like this though. Please let me help you."
"How?"
"Quit your job. Let me take care of you. Take private classes, one to one."
"Blaine I don't think..."
"Please?"
Kurt looks at him, face full of concern but Blaine looks so earnest, so sincere, that he nods reluctantly. "Okay."
"Really?" Blaine squeezes him tight, placated by feeling he's doing his bit to make Kurt's life that much easier.
"Yes. I'll look into classes and give my notice at the library. But I'm not auditioning for any touring production. If something comes up in Chicago then fine. But I'm not going away from you for weeks on end. I want to be in musicals, but I want to be with you more."
"Um..."
"Now tell me your news."
"You know what? It's not important." Blaine makes to stand, but Kurt is tugging him back down in an instant, gripping his wrist tightly and refusing to let go.
"Don't you dare. Don't you dare do this. Tell me now."
"Honestly, Kurt it..."
"No more sex until you do."
"What? You're holding out on me?"
"Damn straight I am."
"Okay, okay. I'll tell you."
"Well that took less time than I anticipated," a startled Kurt says. "Though I don't know why I'm surprised. What is it then?"
"I've been invited to audition for the Chicago Symphony Orchestra again," Blaine says, eyes dancing with happiness. "But as a full member this time, not just a cover."
"Blaine!" Kurt shrieks as he flings himself at him. "Oh my goodness! On the violin? I can't believe you would think I wouldn't want to hear this! This is amazing. Oh wow. Wow!"
"Hold on, slow down," he laughs. "Not the violin, no. Percussion."
"Like drums and stuff?"
"Like drums and stuff?" Blaine imitates. "No! Well...yes. But it's an important role in the orchestra."
"Wouldn't you rather play the violin?"
"Yes, but I'll take what I can get. I figure if I get this then I might have the opportunity to switch later if a vacancy comes up."
"You're gonna do it? You're gonna audition?"
"I'd like to," he begins.
"So do it."
"It's just... I'd have to go away. On tours and stuff."
The statement hangs in the air between them for the longest time. Kurt tries to keep his expression neutral but gives in eventually and lets himself sag with disappointment. Blaine rubs nervously at his neck, wanting to urge Kurt to say something but knowing how irate he was just moments ago, decides not to risk it.
"Okay." Kurt eventually comes to life, forcing a smile as he takes Blaine's hand in his. "Tell me more about that."
"Um...so the longest they go for is three weeks to Europe, but most are ten to fourteen days. A lot of the members have families, so not everyone goes on every tour. They take a scaled down version and use other musicians if needed. Spouses are welcome to join them, but they have to pay their own travel and half the hotel room cost. Two tours a year are mandatory, those could be in the US, or Europe...anywhere really, but you must participate in two. They pay a basic salary, and any tours you go on after the mandatory ones are paid as extra."
"Someone's done their homework," Kurt teases gently. "So...what's the basic salary?"
"I would start on a hundred thousand a year."
"Jesus Christ!" Kurt cries as he covers his mouth. "Wow. That's better than I thought. And these extra tours...what do they entail?"
"They could be a tour of the west coast, for example, which lasts a week. Or it could involve flying to Canada for a three night run and then back again. I don't know the exact rate for touring, but I think it's around two thousand a week."
"This is your dream, isn't it?" Kurt says quietly, but Blaine shakes his head.
"You are my dream. I will never give up fighting for you, Kurt, and if this is going to upset you, or come between us in any way then..."
"You need to do it," Kurt says decisively. "You've always had to travel for work, I knew that about you when we first met. I've just gotten used to having you around all the time because everything is so much more accessible here. But you know what? We'll deal with it. I'll travel with you when I can, and if that's not possible I'll just miss you like crazy instead. We'll always have our phone calls," he says as he trails a finger along Blaine's arm. "Seriously. Go for it. You'd be a fool to turn it down. If we can't handle being parted three or four times a year then we're not as strong as we thought. You've aimed for this all your life, and now is your time."
"I have to get the audition first."
"But you will, because you're Blaine Anderson, handsome, bushy haired fiancé of the fabulous Kurt Hummel and all round perfect musician."
Blaine looks down, suddenly shy and overwhelmed before he looks up again, looks into Kurt's eyes and says sincerely, "Thank you."
"I love you Blaine, and part of my loving you involves me wanting to see you reach those dreams and aspirations of yours, okay?"
"I feel bad," he admits as he swipes at his eyes.
"Why?"
"Because you said about touring and how you wouldn't consider being away from me and..."
"Yeah, for probably a crappy part in a touring production of...of...I dunno, Grease or something. Why would I want to spend six weeks journeying around the mid-west doing that when I could be in your arms every night? But if Fiyero was offered to me for a tour of the Arizona desert...or the emcee in the Alaskan revival of Cabaret...then I hope you'd be waving my ass off on that plane with no regrets."
"I would. You know I would."
"Exactly. We are here to support one another."
"I love you, you know," Blaine scrunches his nose before taking Kurt's face in his hands and kissing him tenderly. "Did you know that I love you?"
"It has been mentioned once or twice," Kurt teases, before kissing him right back.
For the next two weeks Kurt sees very little of Blaine, but hears him plenty. It all starts the day after their discussion, when he arrives home with two studio technicians...and a drum kit. Assuring Kurt he will only play during socially acceptable hours, and that the kit is on loan from the studio and will be returned they day after his audition, Blaine shuts himself away, allegedly to practice, but Kurt prefers to think of it as making an inordinate amount of noise over long periods of time.
The next day Blaine moves in cymbals, a snare drum and a mountain of shakers, triangles and various other things that Kurt doesn't know the names of. But it's fine. He gathers his books and goes to study at Joe's instead, opting to eat dinner there after trying to call Blaine six times and receiving no answer.
It's on the third day, when the timpani arrive that Kurt loses it. It's a Friday, and he has just returned from his last but one shift at the library, looking forward to curling up with a good book himself. He lies down on the bed to do just that when the door to the bedroom bursts open and Blaine enters...or rather, the feet of an enormous drum enter first, followed by the drum itself and then Blaine, staggering under the weight of it.
"What the actual fuck is that?" he screeches.
"Timpani," he puffs. "There's two more to come, but I can only fit them in my car one at a time."
"That's not coming in here. Tell me it's not."
"There's no room anywhere else."
"I thought you were auditioning for non pitched percussion. Timpani is another section, right?"
"Yes, but it said the successful applicant should be proficient in both areas."
"For the love of..." he huffs. "I'll be in the living room...assuming there's not a harp taking up the entire space."
"Are you mad?" Blaine asks nervously. "I don't want you to be mad."
"I'm...no," Kurt says with a sigh. "I'm not mad. How can I be mad at you? I'm just crossing off the days until the audition." He smiles and walks away. "And the instant removal of the fucking drums," he mutters under his breath.
And suddenly that day is upon them. Kurt has class, but he skips improvisation in favor of staying home and helping Blaine to dress. They settle on the suit Blaine had initially bought for his proposal, deciding that it was classically elegant and understated. Kurt brushes his shoulders as they stand in front of the mirror together, leaning in to kiss his freshly shaved cheek.
"You look wonderful."
"I'm nervous as hell," Blaine admits softly.
"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?"
"No." Turning from the mirror he fiddles with the music note cufflinks Kurt had given him for his thirty third birthday. "I mean yes, but you have class."
"I can miss it. It's only my costume elective..."
"Which is your favorite subject and one in which you excel. No," Blaine says, firmer this time. "I'll be fine. You go to class, and then hopefully when you're done I'll be home and ready to take you out to dinner to celebrate."
"You can do this," Kurt says as he uses his tie to pull him close. "Good luck my darling."
The day drags on endlessly for Kurt. He is completely distracted by the time he sits at his sewing machine and ends up joining a bodice to the skirt he is making in entirely the wrong places and having to unpick the lot. He knows Blaine had a practical audition first, followed by an interview with the board of directors and then he was required to accompany a small group of instruments to an unseen piece of music. He tries to calculate how long all this would have taken, but is unable to come up with any kind of answer to placate his nerves. The endless texts from friends and family don't help either. Santana and Rachel had been on his case all day, and between them, his dad and Blaine's mom, he's not sure he can stand it much more. He is just tidying up scraps of material from his workstation when his phone buzzes with the umpteenth text that day.
Just finished work, Wes' message reads. I'm not texting B in case he's forgotten to turn his phone off and he's still in there. Any news?
No, not yet. I'm starting to worry now. Who has a five hour audition?
These places are old school. They have to pick the very best so they can be the very best. Don't worry. He's a shoe in, right?
He should be, yes. I'm going home, I'll get him to text you later.
But Blaine is not home when Kurt gets there and he paces the apartment restlessly, unable to concentrate at anything. It is only on his fourth, maybe fifth lap of the place that he notices all the drums have gone, along with the cymbals, triangles and shakers. Running to the closet he sees Blaine's suit hanging there neatly, the cufflinks back in their box and shoes placed back on the rack. Tearing back into the bedroom he reaches for his phone, but the slamming of the front door makes him drop it instantly and run into the living room instead.
Blaine stands there, leaning heavily against the door, eyes screwed shut tight as he rubs them in the manner of a small child. Kurt takes a tentative step toward him and holds out his hand.
"Blaine?"
"I didn't get in, Kurt," he says in a small voice. "They didn't want me."