Hello everyone, I'm back with Chapter 3! :)
First of all: thanks for the person saying I should use a new sentence for each new speaker. I'm giving my best in the coming chapters.
I'd really love to hear what you think about the story in itself :)
For this chapter, I have some notes again (I think I just love notes).
First of all, in this chapter, our Jack from the movie appears, but don't worry, neither he nor Rose will be regular characters. I believe Jack has the most significant role in this chapter and might be mentioned again later. His appearance will also be explained at some point, I assume :)
Additionally, in my story, the Hummel family is one of those families that have painted portraits of themselves hanging in their house.
Now, a bit about Blaine: He says 'uomo' at one point, which means 'man,' and in this chapter, you'll learn a bit about his backstory.
PS: The subtitle used here is from "You're never fully dressed without a smile" from Annie.
Chapter 3
You're never fully dressed without a smile!
The third-class deck was full of people and couldn't be compared to the one Kurt had just been on. Children ran around, screaming, laughing when they were touched. Kurt couldn't spot a single man in a suit or a woman with expensive jewelry around her neck anywhere. Instead, faded, worn-out jackets hung over the backs of the benches, fathers had rolled up the sleeves of their shirts and chased after their children, mothers shielded their eyes from the sunlight by holding their hands to their foreheads, and they chatted.
Kurt immediately felt out of place, and the heavy feeling on his chest intensified. "I should leave," he mumbled and turned around, ready to return to the first class and come to terms with the fact that he would never feel completely comfortable anywhere.
A hand rested on his forearm, causing him to turn around again. "Stay," Mr. Anderson said. "If you don't behave too arrogantly, no one will treat you any differently than the other passengers of your class. We're not that uptight."
Speechless, Kurt took in a deep breath and pulled his arm away from the man. "How dare you make such a claim?"
Mr. Anderson laughed, a cheerful laugh. "Well, just look at you! You just pulled your arm out of my grip like I wanted to hit you or even sexually assault you and in truth, I was just talking to you. You behave arrogantly because you know you come from a higher class and think that makes you more important than everyone else, like you're God's favorite."
"That's not true at all!" Kurt defended himself and felt quite foolish doing so. He didn't need to justify himself to the man, after all, he had been robbed by him less than a day ago. "Besides, I don't believe in God."
"Whatever you think of God or us, if you don't show it, you'll be able to enjoy yourself here. If you're capable of that," Mr. Anderson said, leaning against one of the columns, of which Kurt wasn't sure if they served as decoration or actually supported the floor of the deck above. His smile had turned into a crooked grin, and he casually crossed his legs.
"Listen, just because I come from a higher class doesn't mean I can't have fun," Kurt protested and took a threatening step toward him. He certainly didn't have to put up with this.
Mr. Anderson reached out and tugged at Kurt's tie. "Then undo it once, roll up the sleeves of your shirt, and prove it."
Kurt swallowed. For a gentleman like him, it was not appropriate to walk around with a bare neck and bare arms. On the other hand, it was also inappropriate to be seen with third-class people, and every man around him seemed so improperly dressed. Kurt noticed the challenging gleam in Mr. Anderson's eyes and reached for his tie, removing the knot and stuffing it into his pants pocket. He rolled up his sleeves. "See?"
Mr. Anderson's laughter rang out once more as he started to move. "How about I give you a memento of this voyage? I met a young painter this morning who could paint your portrait. He's really good," suggested Mr. Anderson.
Skeptically, Kurt raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure if I want to spend that much time here. The next meal is in a few hours, and I'm expected to be dressed in a suit and be seen with the ladies by then."
Mr. Anderson rolled his eyes, a gesture full of meaning. "The painter is precise and fast. I bet I could introduce you to every person on this ship afterward, and I only know your name, the captain's, the painter's, and my roommate's. So, I would have to introduce myself to everyone first."
Kurt doubted this, but still followed the shorter man across the deck until they stood in front of a man with dark blond hair, sitting on a bench, holding up one hand.
"Just a moment," he muttered concentrated, lifted his head, and looked past them. His other hand glided over the paper on his lap. Kurt glanced over his shoulder in the direction the artist was looking and then back at the sheet. His eyes widened. This man was indeed drawing quickly and accurately. He captured the sight of the young girl with long, black curls sitting next to her father on another bench. Mr. Anderson beside him whistled in appreciation but said nothing until the man put down his pencil and looked contentedly at his work.
The artist turned to Mr. Anderson, his face lighting up. "Blaine, have you found what you were looking for?" His eyes darted to Kurt and then back to Mr. Anderson.
Mr. Anderson patted the man on the shoulder. "As you can see, Jack, I have. But you can surely do me a favor, can't you?"
The artist – Jack, as Mr. Anderson had called him – gestured for him to continue. "Can you paint Mr. Hummel for me?"
The dark blonde man nodded. "You should position yourself a bit further to the right. You can lean against the railing; it looks good with the background."
"The portrait isn't necessary; you should draw a mother or something instead," Kurt replied, but he got a dismissive wave from Jack.
Reluctantly, Kurt moved and leaned stiffly against the bars, one hand buried in his pocket, the other resting on the railing. He smiled with closed lips in the direction of the painter.
The man tilted his head. "I'd rather draw you in a more natural pose, not so... stiff."
Kurt snorted softly. How did the man want to see him then? No matter what Kurt did, he would always stand out here. So, it was no wonder he stood there so tensely. Besides, he didn't understand how else he should stand. When he had been painted on canvas before, he had always stood next to his father and just looked straight ahead.
"Jack means he wants the painting to look like a spontaneous snapshot, like in a photo," explained Mr. Anderson as he approached. "You can't tell me this is how you spend your leisure time."
Kurt was about to argue with the audacious man when he leaned against the railing next to him, similar to how he had leaned against the column earlier, his head turned towards Kurt. "Just mimic me," he instructed Kurt.
Kurt shook his head in disbelief. "How would that look?" he asked.
Mr. Anderson raised his arms in the air and sighed. "Then I'll just stand here and chat with you while Jack draws your picture."
Kurt was speechless. For the way Mr. Anderson was behaving and speaking, he would surely be disowned in the circles he moved in. The silence between them was tense, but Kurt couldn't think of anything to say.
"As you've gathered by now, my name is Blaine," Mr. Anderson finally spoke.
Kurt turned his head towards him and raised both eyebrows questioningly. "And?"
"And that's why it would only be fair if I also got to know your first name," he asserted, a smile appearing on his face again.
Kurt turned his head away again, not seeing why it would be unfair if only he knew the other man's first name. When the silence stretched on for too long, he answered nonetheless. "Kurt," he said, not very loudly. "Kurt Hummel."
Mr. Anderson moved closer and extended his right hand, which Kurt hesitantly took and shook briefly.
"So, Kurt," began Mr. Anderson, who had leaned against the railing again but was immediately interrupted by Kurt.
"You will not address me by my first name!"
Mr. Anderson threw his head back and laughed, a laugh that sent a tingling sensation down Kurt's spine. "Do you know that you're terribly complicated, Kurt? No one down here addresses each other by their last name, and you'll see how much more pleasant it is to be addressed by your first name. Who cares, anyway? No one knows you down here. Do me the favor and address me by my first name too."
Kurt opened his mouth to throw a snide reply at the man but then closed it again. Apart from Ms. Pierce and his father, no one had called him Kurt for a long time, and he had to admit that the way Mr. Anderson pronounced his name triggered something in him. Was it the Italian accent? How softly he rolled the 'r' over his lips?
"All right, Blaine," he finally replied. "What brings you to the Titanic?" A glance at the artist confirmed that he was still drawing. Kurt didn't even want to imagine how he would look in the picture.
Blaine shrugged slightly. "I've lived in Italy all my life; my mother is from there, you see. My father was once in Italy for work, long before my birth or that of my brother, and he fell madly in love with my mother. He decided to stay in Italy. Since I found out that I also have family in America, I was determined to pack my bags one day and start a new life there. I've saved up money, and here I am, on my way to freedom."
"You've seen quite a lot of the world," he observed, "Italy, England, and soon New York."
Blaine tilted his head and blinked against the sunlight. "I bet you've seen much more."
Kurt turned a bit more toward the man, who had his hands on his suspenders again. "I was once in France for a few days, but apart from that, I've spent my time in England. I don't regret it; I love the country, but I admire your motivation."
As much as Kurt hated to admit it, he had not lied. The motivation of the dark-haired man was truly admirable, even though it didn't soften Kurt's initial impression of him.
"Why are you going to New York?" Blaine asked, interest glittering in his eyes.
Kurt averted his gaze and looked at the little girl with long dark curls that he had seen before. She was currently holding the fingers of another blonde girl and strolling around with her.
"I'm getting married," he replied simply and noticed out of the corner of his eye how Blaine nodded.
"Then I wish you good luck, Kurt. Congratulations in advance bring bad luck, after all."
"Thank you very much."
Kurt closed his eyes for a few seconds, trying not to think about Ms. Pierce, with whom he would soon have to spend the rest of his life. If it were up to him, he would prefer to remain alone forever rather than wake up next to the blonde every day and give her his full attention. He was relieved that she didn't notice how half-heartedly he touched her. He would much rather wake up in the morning without anyone beside him but secretly be able to admire other men who didn't know how Kurt mentally categorized them – Attractive, Attractive but brainless, Drunk, Aggressive, Possibly with a good character, Perfect but already committed to a woman, just about everyone.
He wished for nothing more than to be held at night, exchange loving glances, and feel gentle touches on his hands. Just not with his fiancée.
"Which of the two women is your fiancée?" Blaine interrupted his thoughts. "The blonde beauty or the sulky dark-haired one?"
Kurt slapped his hand to his chest. "God forbid, I'd hang myself if the dark-haired one were my fiancée," he exclaimed.
Blaine turned completely toward him, his hip still against the railing, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Mr. Hummel, we were terribly worried about you," he said, altering his voice to mimic that of Ms. Lopez. "And now follow me to my cabin so I can fetch those ultra-high heels and gouge your eyes out with them."
Kurt's mouth twitched upward before he could stop it. "Don't say that too loudly, or Ms. Lopez might actually do it."
Blaine rested a hand on his hip and regarded him with disdain. "One more word, Mr. Hummel, and I'll throw you into the icy water, tied to your countless suitcases, so you can really sink deep."
Kurt shook his head and concealed his little smile again. "You wouldn't even know I had so many suitcases if you hadn't broken into my suite. I hope you suffered nicely overnight too."
Blaine gave up his posture and stood normally again. "If it comforts you, I really did, as my wrist was tied to a pipe, and I had to sleep half-sitting, half-standing. But now be honest, are you still so angry with me?"
"I don't tolerate theft and break-ins," Kurt replied, "but I have to admit that you just saved me from my fiancée and her friend. So, I'll say it depends on how the rest of the day goes. And now, tell me, how do you know that Ms. Lopez speaks so harshly, Blaine?"
Blaine looked at the artist as he spoke, "I have a very good understanding of people. When I saw you with your fiancée and Ms. Lopez yesterday, I immediately noticed that you were angry, even though you had it under control. To me, she seems like a woman who won't let a man boss her around. All the luck in the world I could wish you probably wouldn't have been enough."
Kurt began to respond, but Blaine pushed off the railing. "I believe Jack is finished."
Kurt glanced over at the artist and nodded, following Blaine. "Show us the masterpiece," Blaine demanded, pushed a jacket aside on the bench and sat down beside the man. Admiration appeared on his face, and Kurt positioned himself behind him to catch a glimpse of his drawn self.
His drawn self wasn't alone in the picture. Kurt actually recognized five people on the paper. At the bottom edge, he saw the black curls and blonde hair of the two girls he had observed earlier, and on the right side, a skirt disappeared from view. The two people in the middle occupied the largest space. Kurt's eyes moved to the figure on the side with the flowing skirt. Blaine's curls were flying around his head in the wind as he turned it to the left. His dark trousers accentuated the muscles of his legs, his shirt was not perfectly tucked into his pants, and one of his suspenders had slipped down slightly as he held onto them.
Kurt forced himself to scrutinize himself and not think about Blaine any longer. As soon as Blaine had paid the artist, he would take the drawing and turn his back on him. The drawing would disappear into one of his suitcases, or he might even leave it with Blaine, so that no one in Kurt's circle of acquaintances would ever find the sketch.
Kurt was taken aback by his appearance. He was leaning against the railing, just as he remembered, with his head turned towards Blaine, and a smile on his lips, bigger than Kurt had imagined.
"What do I get for the drawing now?" Jack asked.
Blaine put his hands in his pockets and fumbled around for a moment. "I guess I don't have any cash on me, but you can come to my room, and I'll offer you something there. I have this great pocket knife, a little worn but in good condition," he suggested, biting his lower lip.
Kurt rolled his eyes, reached into his own pocket, and pulled out a few coins. "Here."
The widened eyes of the two young men almost made Kurt laugh; they looked so silly. But instead, he grabbed the picture, turned around, and carefully rolled it up as he walked away.
"You owe me something, Mr. Anderson," he called out, placing a foot on a white staircase step that would take him to the higher deck when he felt a hand on his wrist.
"Don't go yet," Blaine pleaded. "You've been such an interesting conversationalist, and as much as I like my roommate, I don't understand Irish."
Kurt turned around, one hand on the railing, the other holding the drawing. "Why should that concern me, Mr. Anderson?"
Blaine tilted his head, one of his dark eyebrows shot up. "Well," he grinned, "you turned around when you could have left. Do you remember what I said about good people skills? I know you're still angry with me for what happened yesterday, and you still have a slight aversion to the third class, which makes you afraid to be seen with me. At the same time, though, I also know that you don't want to go back to your fiancée and Ms. Lopez and that you've been having fun so far, just as I predicted."
Kurt lifted his chin. "That's a mere assumption you're making, Mr. Anderson," he said but stepped back down from the step. "I'm staying just to find out why you broke into my suite yesterday."
Blaine gestured with a quick hand motion for him to follow and then led them to a bench, out of sight of the upper deck.
Kurt sat down beside him and played with his rolled-up sleeves, the sounds of children playing sounding foreign and fascinating to him. Blaine cleared his throat. He had stretched his legs out and had his hands loosely folded in his lap. The sunlight bathed his face, and Blaine had closed his eyes in enjoyment. Kurt leaned back and closed his own eyes. What was the point of thinking about the appearance of the man next to him when he had a fiancée he should be with right now?
"As I told you, I didn't steal your ticket on purpose," Blaine began, still not opening his eyes. "I was led to your suite, and just there, I realized that something was off, but once I was inside, it wasn't easy to just leave. You can probably imagine that a man like me doesn't usually get to see such luxury. So, I looked around a bit and admired all your suitcases, wondering what might be inside. You have to believe me that I really didn't intend to steal from you."
Blaine, who had looked Kurt in the eyes in the last part of his response as if to make sure Kurt understood he wasn't lying, now averted his gaze from Kurt's eyes. "I don't like admitting what made me open your suitcases and take things out, but I suppose you deserve an answer."
"Yes, you're right, I do." It was strange to look at the young man this way. Blaine had always seemed to have a smile on his face, but now he had pulled his head in, his forehead was wrinkled, and his cheeks were slightly flushed. "I believe you," Kurt added truthfully. What was the point of being cold to the man in front of him when he probably wouldn't see him again in a few days? Kurt would need a small distraction from his miserable life, and Blaine seemed alright. "And I won't judge you for your reasons if you say you didn't intend to steal from me. Besides, I got my jacket back."
Blaine's expression brightened again. "The first suitcase I opened, it was just pure curiosity. In it, I found the jacket, and the 18-year-old in me wanted to know how I would look in it. So, I put the jacket on and went into the bathroom, where I found another suitcase and took out the hair gel. When I heard footsteps, I panicked and fled. I did not have the time to put the jacket back in the suitcase so I thought I could get Jack to draw me, who I had seen but didn't know yet, and then return the jacket. But then everyone rushed to the dining hall, and I just went along without thinking."
Taken aback by the honesty in Blaine's voice, Kurt was silent for a few seconds before deciding to say something. "What were you planning to do with the drawing, Blaine?"
Blaine pulled his legs up and shrugged a little. "I probably would have sent it to my parents. My father doesn't understand why I'm so determined to go to New York."
"Would your parents have believed that you suddenly became rich?" Kurt asked.
Blaine's mouth curled into his typical smile. "My brother would have believed it for sure, probably not my parents, but I don't want to imagine what they would have thought. Probably that I bribed the artist to draw me in fine clothes or that I stole the jacket," he winked.
Suddenly, his expression turned serious again. "What time is it?"
Confused, Kurt pulled out his pocket watch. "Damn," he cursed, hoping no one had heard him. "There's dinner in fifteen minutes, and I still need to change completely."
Hectically, Kurt rolled down the sleeves of his shirt and pulled out his tie, tying it around his neck as quickly as possible. Blaine nodded absentmindedly and got up. "I wondered why the deck was emptying out. I guess they'll be serving dinner soon. Will we see each other again? I've enjoyed your company."
Kurt paused in his movement and took in the sight of the man. "Your company wasn't bad either," he said and pocketed the drawing. Better than that of the two women.
"But I can't promise anything, Mr. Anderson...Blaine. It depends entirely on my fiancée's and the female devil's plans."
Blaine's mouth corners lifted slightly, and he extended a hand for Kurt to shake. "Enjoy your meal," he wished.
Reluctantly, Kurt released Blaine's warm hand. "You too," he replied, turned around, and climbed the steps to the higher deck. He took a deep breath. Ms. Lopez would give him hell.
"Hummel!" Ms. Lopez hissed as he emerged from his suite, his body covered in a black, plain suit. He put on a neutral expression and nodded to both the Latina and the blonde. "It's nice to see you too, Ms. Lopez," he greeted. Kurt had expected that Ms. Lopez would get upset.
"Can you tell me where you were, Hummel?" she continued to scold.
"I don't think I owe you an answer," Kurt replied, extending his arm to Ms. Pierce. "Ready for the meal, Ms. Pierce?"