KURT
When Elliott greeted him with a careful "hey, how are you feeling?" instead of his usual cheerful smile, it pretty much confirmed Kurt's fears. He groaned and closed his eyes briefly behind his dark sunglasses.
"Please tell me I didn't climb on a table wearing my tie wrapped around my head, singing Too Sexy by Right Said Fred," he begged his friend, his own voice sounding painfully loud in his head.
"Santana has pictures," Elliott said with a smirk.
"Urgh."
Elliott chuckled a little. "It wasn't so bad," he offered, and nudged Kurt's shoulder with his own. "You were loud, but not off-key. And there were definitely more than a few guys agreeing that you were 'too sexy for your shirt' and demanding you take it off."
Kurt's horror must have shown on his face, because Elliott quickly added: "You didn't, though."
"Thank god," Kurt said, and then sighed and slipped a hand under his glasses to rub at his eyes. "I guess if that really happened, I also didn't dream throwing up over your shoes when you helped me out of my taxi."
Elliott scrunched up his nose. "I'm afraid you also did that, yes."
"See, this is why I don't drink," Kurt muttered angrily. "I'm really sorry. I should have known better."
"Hey, these things happen," Elliott said. "We've all been there before."
Kurt shook his head, then realized that was a bad idea and steadied himself with one hand on Elliott's arm to stop the world from swaying. "No, you don't understand. When I get drunk, horrible things happen. The first time I drank alcohol, I threw up over my student counsellor and called her Bambi!"
Elliott snorted a little. "Did you get into trouble?"
"Not as much as the woman who gave it to me," Kurt replied, "but I didn't drink again for a long while after that. I still feel guilty every time I smell disinfectant."
Elliott was looking at him with a warm smile, and instead of feeling embarrassed, Kurt accepted that the story probably did sound kind of funny in the retelling. "Then there was the time I almost got a tattoo…" he said.
Now Elliott went wide-eyed. "What? Really?"
Kurt knew Elliott wasn't judging him- he wouldn't, with all the tattoos he had himself - and his enthusiastic curiosity encouraged Kurt to tell the story. They started walking down the street, Kurt still holding Elliott's arm.
"A few months ago, Rachel dragged me to a tattoo parlour. It was a few weeks after Finn had died and I guess we were both just…numb, going through our routines without really connecting with anything. She had this idea that getting a tattoo might 'shock us back into life', so to say." Kurt pressed his lips together in a thin smile. Thinking about that time was still painful. "To get over our nerves, we shared some awful hooch that she had smuggled in with her purse. It tasted like lemons and gasoline. By the time we were finally up, the tattoo guy took one look at us- or maybe just one sniff- and threw us out of the door. He told us to come back when we sobered up."
"I'm glad. It shows you went to the right place, with responsible artists," Elliott said.
"He literally saved my skin. I thought about sending him a thank-you card but he didn't seem like the type who'd appreciate it."
Elliott nodded. "Yeah, well, he wasn't just doing you a favour. He could lose his license if you sued him for assault afterwards."
"I owe him anyway," Kurt said, pointing at the sign of a large warehouse to show where he wanted to go. "Over there. Reasonable prices, good lighting in the fitting rooms. Not too bright." He straightened his sunglasses.
"Are you sure you're up to this?" Elliott asked with concern in his voice. "It's not that important."
"Are you kidding? I wouldn't miss an opportunity for a make-over if I had just lost both my legs," Kurt replied.
Elliott grinned and steered them towards the shop. "So do you remember what you were going to get? For the tattoo I mean?" he asked.
"Mmm. Another reason why I'm glad; and not just because I misspelled it on my order sheet."
Elliott raised his eyebrows. "Not you ex's name, right? That'd be so corny…"
"God, no. I was drunk, not brain dead. It gets better," Kurt cited. "I still felt differently about that a few months ago, but I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. I mean, yeah, it got a little better for me after high school, and a little worse in some ways, but generally better. And maybe hearing that gives hope to some people. But for me, when I was lying in a dumpster with a broken wrist, or bleaching cherry slushie stains from my white jeans so people would stop calling them period pants-"
Elliott winced.
"-or when I had to watch my dad suffer abuse for having a gay son- I didn't want vague promises about a far away future. I needed it to be better then."
"Yeah, I get that," Elliott said. He put a hand on Kurt's and pressed it.
Kurt sighed. He had intended the tattoo story to be a funny and slightly self-deprecating 'alcohol escapades' story, but it had somehow turned serious and depressing.
"I'm sorry, I'm being a downer. Let me just get a coffee-to-go at the bistro inside and then I'll be good to go for your business look. What kind of job are you looking for anyway?" He rattled his words off fast, not giving Elliott the opportunity to say anything more about the previous topic- a useful tactic that always worked with his dad.
Elliott looked at him from the side for a moment - clearly he had noticed - but then nodded and looked back at the shop.
"Anything I can get, but I'm really hoping for something administrative with flexible hours. Callcenter, maybe? I am not looking to fill my resumé, I just need the money. I could probably get something in my every-day get-up too, but I figured the snobby places probably pay better."
Kurt snorted. "Yes, probably. So I guess we'll go conservative, cover up, business tie-" Somehow, his head already hurt less now that he had something fresh to focus on.
They wound through the men's department looking at dress shirts and jackets, touching fabrics and holding them out for the colors.
"How about this? It's no-crease," Elliott said, holding out a rather plain shirt. "I really hate ironing. Ain't nobody got time for that, right?"
Kurt shrugged. "I don't mind. I usually watch tv while I do it. It's kind of relaxing." There was something about the hot stream and the glide of the iron that Kurt found incredibly soothing.
"Well, you're welcome to do mine at any time," Elliott said, grinning.
"Cook for me and I just might," Kurt replied, taking the shirt out of his hands. "This is horrible. You don't need a cut like that, you have nothing to hide." He put it back and nodded at another display. "Let's try over there."
He thought he saw a new spring in Elliott's step as they walked to the other section. He wondered why. Did he really hate ironing that much?
"Are you ready?" Kurt asked.
"No. I just need… urgh! I can't get these cuffs to cooperate." Elliott's voice sounded from the fitting booth.
"Need help?"
"Hnng… yeah. Yes, please."
Kurt shook his head fondly and and pushed aside the curtain. "Okay mister Costume Studies major, let me show you how to put on a sh–" He broke off as Elliott turned around, a frustrated look on his face, the shirt in question hanging open over his naked chest. "-irt?" Kurt finished meekly, and swallowed.
After his dance and stage combat classes at NYADA and living in a single-room apartment with Sam (and Brody), Kurt was no stranger to manscaped chests and toned bodies. But none of that had prepared him for this sight. By comparison, Sam seemed like a boy. Elliott was- well. Very much a man. Kurt's eyes were drawn to the inky swirls that peeked out of his shirt sleeves to his pecs. Kurt had seen the artwork on Elliott's lower arms and had secretly wondered what other tattoos he might have…and where. His question was answered as he spotted a similar design snaking out of Elliott's waistband and curling around his hips. The residue alcohol from the night before pulsed through Kurt's veins and he felt a little lightheaded as his blood rushed south.
Elliott held out his wrists and Kurt needed a few seconds to remember what he was supposed to do. Then, he buttoned Elliott's cuffs, which were really quite tricky. The fabric was stiff and new and the buttons set at an awkward angle to do up with one hand. "Do you need help with the-" he started, but Elliott already started doing up the other buttons by himself.
"No, thanks," Elliott mumbled, avoiding Kurt's eyes.
Kurt hadn't felt this awkward towards Elliott since he accused him of trying to take over his band.
Elliott finished buttoning up and cleared his throat. "So, what do you think? Well-adjusted, responsible adult?" He struck a pose.
Kurt tried to focus. "Hmmm. I don't know. I know it sounds rich coming from me, but that shade makes you look really pale. I'm getting you another."
He quickly stepped out of the booth and pulled the curtain closed. What was wrong with him? Elliott was his best friend, and he had made it quite clear right from the start that he was only interested in being friends, nothing more. He had even literally said he was glad Kurt didn't want to hook up with him. It was obvious from his reaction that Kurt had made him uncomfortable.
Kurt randomly grabbed a few shirts and checked them for sizes as he tried to sort his thoughts. If he was honest to himself, something like this had been bound to happen. With his and Blaine's sexlife leaving so much to be desired, it was actually a miracle it hadn't happened earlier- but Kurt simply hadn't allowed himself to look at other men while he was in a relationship. Clearly, the self-censoring goggles had been dropped, and now that he was looking, he was seeing.
But he couldn't have Elliott, and that was that. Kurt was just going to have to put him out of his mind like he had once gotten over his attraction to Finn and Sam. Just because Elliott was actually gay didn't mean he wasn't just as much out of his league.
Kurt let out a short huff of breath, straightened his shoulders, and headed back to the fitting booths. Maybe, he mused, it would help if he found someone willing to help him through his rebound. If they knew from the start he wasn't looking for anything serious, it would help to take the strain off his friendship with Elliott without having to invest into someone new emotionally.
That thought actually made him blush a little, and he was reminded of The Talk with his father. I'm sorry, dad, he thought, but I'm a New Yorker now.
He poked an arm passed Elliott's curtain and held out the shirts.
"Hmm. I like the one with the birds, it's a bit like yours, you know, the cobalt blue with the short sleeves? But isn't that a little out there for a job interview?"
Kurt winced. He actually had no idea what he had just given Elliott.
"Well, maybe, but try it on anyway. If the cut fits, we can check for different colours online."
"Right."
To fill the silence as Elliott tried them on, Kurt said: "You know, I don't say this to a lot of people, but I think you don't really need my clothing advice."
"I know," Elliott said from inside the booth. "But it's way more fun to go shopping together."
Kurt smiled in relief. Elliott sounded normal. Maybe he had imagined the whole thing and Elliott hadn't even noticed his indiscretion. The curtain opened and Elliott was wearing the printed shirt, neatly buttoned up to his throat.
"I like it," he announced. "I might just get this for regular wear."
Kurt cocked his head as he considered Elliott's wardrobe. "It will go great with that brown leather jacket."
Elliott's eyes crinkled as he smiled broadly. "That's what I thought!"
As Elliott changed, Kurt checked the shirt's brand for a suitable professional colour, this time paying attention to what he was doing, and found one with a matching tie. He also saw several printed shirts from himself to try on, and soon enough they were both in the fitting booths, chatting away over the thin wooden wall between them. The awkwardness had passed, and so had his hang-over.