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nouveaukurt-blog · 7 years

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the prologue; klaine’s story

-KURT’S PERSPECTIVE

The effects of time can do great things; it's one of the most powerful forces in the world. Mountains fall and seas drain, relationships grow and friendships crumble. People grow, and the trials and tribulations of childhood mold people into the adults that time brings them into being. My story is no different. Time took me from one place to the next, and turned me into the man that I am today. It’s complicated, like any life is, but the biggest factor in my journey to adulthood is actually really easy to explain.

Once upon a time I was a happy, naive teenager in high school. I had a love that was better than any other—a gay love, which had seemed so impossible right up until the point that I met you. A love that could lift me up from the deepest pits of despair and help me fly high into the clouds of happiness. I had the perfect boy, and the closest-to-perfect relationship I had ever encountered. We were better than all those cheesy romance movies, we were that good. All good things must come to an end though, as they say. I moved off to New York after my senior year of high school to follow my life-long dream and in order to do so, I had to leave my perfect boy behind. I was devastated and completely broken by it for the longest time. I thought I would never move on, though I never admitted it to anyone else. Not even my best gal pal, and I spent more times wrapped around her like an emotionally scarred little koala, crying my eyes out until they were puffy beyond repair than I could count. I really loved you, Blaine Anderson, and though the idea of moving off to New York without you had once seemed so frightening that I almost lost my strength and stayed in Lima forever.. I knew that I had to go. And so did you. This was my dream, something that I had wanted before we had even met each other. If I didn't go, then I would end up resenting you for stealing away my chance; I could be one of those desperate "housewife" types that would blame his husband for a future that never was. Neither of us wanted that, so we split ways. At least it was amicable. There was no hate or malice in our breakup or my departure afterwards.

Even still, I wished you would have begged me to stay, but for you, that was irrational. You cared about me too much to tie me down to a dusty old town like Lima. I loved you even more for that. It only proved how much you cared, and it made it harder to get on that plane and leave. Our contact after that was fierce, like we were trying to make up for distance by spending every moment we could on the phone. During my entire freshman year at NYU I told you about everything. Every time I ate, slept, drank, studied, danced, cried; all of it. You knew about everything. I doubt I would have made it through that first year without you, honestly. I needed you, and like an addiction I kept coming back for more. Like I said, I loved you. My second year came along and I became buried in school work, so I couldn't talk to you as often. My third year there was even less time, and when I was talking to you it was usually on speaker phone while I was doing my homework, and I tried to pretend you were in the room with me; sitting by my side, just too far to touch if I leaned over. Yeah, it was silly of me, but I really did pretend you were there. Even after three years apart, my love for you burned brighter than the Olympic torch.

The years passed by and soon we started talking even less than before. I had to get jobs, support myself. I was no longer living under the money that had been put aside for me to use during college. I was a functioning adult, and I went through internships that took up most of my time. I got a Bluetooth so I could talk to you while I worked without getting in trouble, and I'd hear you laugh at conversations I had at work. Again, I pretended like you were there. But soon enough, even that ended. Before I knew it, the weeks we would go without talking turned into months. Then one day I realized that I couldn't remember when the last time we had spoken was. That day I cried for the first time in years, curled up on my bed with a stuffed animal you had bought me that last Valentine's Day we had spent together. I felt like a silly child. It had been over seven years since we had broken up, and I still held onto my love for you. You were my first real love, the one person who knew me better than I knew myself. At one time I had shared everything with you, and now you didn't even know who I was. I wondered if you were okay, if you were alive, what you were doing; all kinds of things. I hadn't dated since we split, and I had made sure not to ask if you had. I didn't want to know, it would have made pretending while we spoke on the phone impossible. All I wanted was for fate to bring us back together, and I had been so hoping that it would.

Finally, I had to pick myself up and try to move on. Not from you, no, but I needed to grab my life by the horns and take what I had been working so hard for. I had so many dreams, I wanted so much. Over the years I had auditioned for a few musicals and shows on Broadway. I was able to act in the background in a few things, and I even got some secondary character roles in smaller theaters, but not the big break I had hoped for. Still, I never gave up. I still had that picture, the one that was so old it should be dust.. The one I had held onto during high school, your class photo, the one I had framed and then hot glued magazine clippings around it to personalize it. The words and images on those scraps of paper were now nearly black and white, slightly sepia from age. Every time I looked at it I saw the bright colors it had once been, and I drew courage from it just like I had before. Again, I will admit, you were like an addiction now that you were gone. Without your calls, I talked to your picture sometimes. Not like I was obsessed and talked to you all of the time; I just shared small little things, like when I was getting dressed and couldn't pick an outfit. I'd ask you, look in the mirror, and try to see if I could come to a conclusion. I was silly, but I was still hopelessly in love.

I met a man name Pierre, somewhere in that seventh year of our separation. Well, I already knew him really. I had met him in college and he had asked me out a few times after we had met but I always dodged his advances. We hung out, but nothing formal or date-like, and one day I ended up spilling my guts right out on the table in front of him. It was just like when I had finally burst and told you about how trapped and depressed I was in high school. I don't even remember what set me off, but I just poured everything out right there. I told him why I was in New York, what my dreams were and how hard it was to keep chasing them when I wasn't getting anywhere. I told him about how easy I had thought it would be to succeed, and how I was losing my confidence. I explained that I had put so much effort into college, into my dream, and that I felt like I was drowning without a life vest to save me. Then I told him all about you, and how much I missed you. How we never talked, and how I was sure you were probably holding someone else in those gorgeous arms of yours, holding them close and telling them all the things you had said to me. I was in a coffee shop in New York City with a man who I had put my walls up with so that he could never get close.. And here I was pouring out my heart and soul. For a few minutes there, I broke. I didn't care that other people could see me crying, I had never really cared about that; even if it did make me look horrible when I got that emotional. My face scrunched up and my eyes went all squinty, and the puffiness that came next never helped my appearance. Not to mention the way my skin blotched up and reddened.

He got up and held me somewhere in the middle of my babbling. I didn't even notice, I was so caught up in myself, and he just held me and listened. So when, about a week later, he asked me to go on another coffee meeting with him -this time under the title of "date"- I finally gave in. I caved, and had the first real date since splitting up with you. Is it pathetic that it took me that long? Probably, but one never forgets their first love, and I have always been a romantic fool. Even then, in the first weeks of a relationship with another man, I expected you to ride in on a white horse and carry me away. Perhaps with some cheesy little romantic line about how I'd never left your heart, or how another man could never love me the way that you had. How your life had always had a slight hint of misery without me in it. Why had we not gotten back into physical contact after I had graduated from NYU? I didn't even know, it just never came up. Did that mean that neither of us wanted to be together as much as I had thought?

Time, that ever-changing force that had taken me from a naive teenage mind with great opinions and goals into a responsible adult taking charge of his dreams, drifted by further. With support from Pierre, who had eventually gotten me to allow him to kiss me and became my boyfriend, I set out to grab my dreams for all they were worth. A starring role on Broadway never happened, but I kept feeling like I was close. I wanted to give up, but I knew I couldn't. That wasn't me. I still had to make enough money to pay the bills, so I continued to work. Through the years, I had moved on from simple jobs waiting tables and taken a proper seat at Vogue via internship.

Then one day, I was reborn, and Jonathon Sparks came into being. What? You thought I was simply born into a name as classy as that? Hardly. And though I do love my birth name, this one seemed to fit me. One might ask; why did I create an alter ego for myself? It's simple. I was beginning a new business venture and taking another step towards something that I was interested in. This something had every potential, including that for failure. If this did flop, I did not want my own name tarnished in the process. I had every confidence in myself, and so did Pierre, but I did not want to risk ruining my birth name. You only get one of those. I made a big deal about this rebirthing process, and the venture I was about to take on. I had this giant meeting with a bunch of the people I had made friends with, and of course, Pierre. I even called my Father and his new wife so that they could join in on the talk via speakerphone. We all spoke for hours, and then finally, my decision was set in stone. I was starting my own magazine.

It sounded like the perfect idea for me. I had risen from intern to actually seeing some of my designs on a catwalk. I had taken supporting roles in big theaters all over town, lead roles in smaller theaters, and smaller roles on Broadway. When the subject of gay marriage being legal in all states and not just New York came up, I had fought tooth and nail to publicly and loudly give my full support and voice to the cause. So many ventures, so many of my interests had been explored. I believed it was time to step out of my comfort zone and go for something big. Maybe this would be great, and maybe this would get me further into the warmth and bliss of my dreams.

And so I began the steps needed to begin a magazine. I had saved up a good little chunk of money over the years; I was always responsible like that. So I started with a single room space that was small enough to be laughable, and built myself up from the ground. From nothing, I managed to pull together an entire crew, and through sweat, blood, and buckets of tears I came out with my first issue only six months after that meeting with all the people whose opinions I valued. Well, not all of the people who had opinions I valued. You weren't there, and don't think for one second that I didn't leave a seat open for you.. Just in case you magically knew that I needed you. Of course, you didn't. You're not a mind reader.

My first issue was self-published, a process I pursued by myself, and I managed to get a few copies distributed throughout town. A few of my friends even stood on street corners and sold handfuls of copies like the newspaper boys of old. I was so grateful for everything I had, for everyone I had. It took a year before I was able to publish enough copies to get them into stores, but it was still local. My magazine, Fem Nouveau, had yet to reach beyond New York City, but it was my next dream for it to become more than just a local thread. I liked to approach things one step at a time, since I had become mature enough to make fully detailed task lists and run a magazine single handedly. Well, that wasn't fair to say. I had plenty of help from other people and Pierre had both hands dipped into the magazine as well, but my name was the one under the header, and my decisions were the final say.

A few more years went by, and now I was ready to bring my magazine into the real world. I wanted to be able to spread the span that I distributed across in one foul swoop. I had been saving and collecting the best writers I could find. Not all of them were in New York either. I scourged the country, and with the money I had saved up throughout these years I was able to afford to fly out myself to interview the more important ones. Finally, my team was set up and everything was ready to go. I brought everyone to where they needed to be in order to begin working, and warned everyone how important this issue was. I wanted everyone to be as serious as I was, and I left knowing that I had complete confidence in everyone that was working for me.

I finally felt like I knew who I was again. I wasn’t lost anymore, and eventually.. I stopped pining over you. I stopped waiting and I let myself just… live.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What? Can't she just push it back in? Oh my god!" I exclaimed, sitting on the couch of my childhood home in my pajamas. It had to be about five in the morning, and my crazy sleep schedule had really caught up with me. I slept at weird hours, and always woke up wondering about my magazine, or auditions, or whatever play or musical I was currently in. This was supposed to be my vacation, and even now I couldn't calm my mind down. The moment my cell phone rang I had picked it up, answering it on the first ring when I recognized the number. My fiancé -- Yes, that's right, Pierre asked me to marry him and I said yes -- sat beside me, an arm lazily snaked around my waist, mumbling things in French about how early it was, and how even I shouldn't be getting calls from work at this hour; Especially not on my vacation. Biting my lower lip, my eyes darted around the room nervously before I lifted my hand to chew on the tip of my thumb. It was a nervous habit, and I was nearly shaking with nerves now. "I don't want to sound rude, but this is not the time for her to be having that baby."

I sounded like one of those rude, executive prick bastards and I knew it, so I sighed, biting down on my thumb a little harder before Pierre took the hand away from my lips. "Alright, give her my best. Send her a basket with chocolates, a teddy bear, sparkling cider, and enough cute little baby toys to fill up the rest of the space. No flowers, we don't want to end up irritating her senses, and nothing else in the chocolates because we have no idea what her stomach is going to feel like after she has that beautiful baby. Send her my best wishes, and get everyone in the office to sign a card and write my name for me as well. Email me all those other resumes we got when we were looking to fill her job. I'll go over them right now and call back when I know who I need to have interviewed. Au revoir."

Within a minute I was scanning through applications on my phone, looking for the perfect candidates. Pierre whimpered next to me, and I had to explain the situation before he understood why I was working on our vacation. As soon as he knew what a dire emergency this was, he was looking through the applications with me. One of my more important music reviewer columnists had just been taken to the hospital, and she was having her baby early. This wouldn't be a problem normally, but this was an important issue and if this one flopped then I might not be able to fund another one of this magnitude for a while. This was it. The make it or break it moment. This would either go so well that I’d be able to finally become a national name, or it would completely destroy everything I had so painstakingly built. Finally, we picked a candidate, I called my assistant back, and he made the plans for the interview. I was pleased to hear that the man was able to meet me here, in Lima, and that I could have the chance to see him and speak with him myself before deciding to hire him on for this important role. It was so important that I made the meeting for later in the same day, because I needed to be able to be sure I had time to look elsewhere if I needed to. Deadlines were coming up close, so I would already have to work really closely with this man in order to be sure he got things done on time.

Pierre and I fell asleep entwined on that sofa, watching mindless cartoons because they made him laugh and he insisted it would help me get my mind off of work long enough to fall asleep. He worried about my health constantly, because of how hard I had always pushed myself. It was an honest concern, though you would never tell how few hours I slept nowadays by looking at me. I had a wonderful skin care regime, and it kept me looking as youthful and fresh as ever.

The alarm on my phone went off a few hours later, the time was three hours before my scheduled meeting with my possible new writer. Yes, three hours for me to get dressed and ready to impress well enough to feel like I looked like magazine owning material. I showered and brushed my teeth, then moved around my bedroom with nothing more than a robe on, though the sash keeping it closed was held tightly in place. I picked out a deep red colored pair of slacks, dark enough that they looked black unless they hit the sun, and then they glinted with a bit of the brighter color. I grabbed the matching blazer and decided to calm the fashion choice down with a white button up shirt and a thin black tie with little red glittery design details; all designer, of course. After laying that all out on my bed I rushed back into the bathroom, intent on finishing my beautification ritual. There was a facial scrub and a hair mask, and after I rinsed all that off I put on three different moisturizers, an under the eye treatment to keep those pesky bags away, and a cream that was supposed to help keep facial hair from appearing. Because, let's face it, I had a baby face and I did not want to lose it. I dabbed make up concealer on a few spots on my face -under the eyes, my forehead, and some on any spot on my face that seemed discolored in any way- and then powdered my face so it wouldn't look shiny.

That was only the beginning. I styled my hair into place; comb in one hand and hairspray in the other. Once it was done, I spritzed it with a leave-in conditioner that made it even softer than it normally was. I was already hot from all the effort, so I fanned myself with my hand before dropping the robe, neatly hanging it up on its place on the back of the door. It never once touched the ground. No, my clothing never hit the ground, not even my robe. I spread lotion all over every inch of me but my face. There was one more, fancy moisturizer I put on, and this one was for the tougher areas to keep soft; my feet and elbows.

Finally, I was ready to dress. I moved back into the bedroom, stretching my arms over my head as I walked. After so many years with my own body, I was finally comfortable with it, as long as nobody else was there. I got dressed slowly, I had given myself enough time to do so, and I didn't want to get sweaty. That would gross me out. There were few rare occasions where sweat was anything but horrible disgusting. Like when a man was boxing, his knuckles tight underneath those gloves, slamming hard fists into those unforgiving punching bags until moisture dripped from heated pores. Anyway, that was not the topic of the day. I buttoned every button on my shirt, making sure every inch of my outfit was freshly pressed, and checked out every angle of myself in the mirror before slipping on my shoes and socks. The shoes were black, of course, as were the socks. A sideways glance at the clock told me it was time to go, and I grabbed my briefcase and headed towards the door. Pierre was still asleep, and so I leaned down to kiss his cheek chastely before grabbing my keys and wallet from the table beside the door and heading out.

It took me fifteen minutes to get to the coffee shop where I had planned to meet my potential new hire, and I sat in my car for an extra five minutes giving myself a pep talk to bring up my confidence.

"You are Jonathon Sparks, and you are amazing. You went for your dreams and you reached them. Forget about everything else. You. Are. Jonathon. Sparks. Live it. Love it. Breathe it. BE IT." I said to myself in my quest to gain more courage. I was always pretty good with people, and I was a bit of a diva throughout my life, so I wasn't all too worried by the end of my little chat with myself. My inner diva was awake, and I was ready for business. I grabbed the handle of my briefcase with one hand and the door handle with the other and opened the car door with determination. My head tilted up towards the sky as it so often did when faced with its first noted exposure of the day to the beautifully warm sun. I was still pale as a ghost, but I did enjoy feeling the warmth from time to time. I slid my keys and my wallet into my pocket and hit the button on the car door to lock it before closing it. My shoes made a little sound as I walked across the parking lot to the place that should have felt like a second home to me. How I could have gone to this exact parking lot so many times and not known immediately where I was stepping would have been beyond me if I had known how oblivious I was. Sure, it had a new name and it had been remodeled beyond recognition, but I thought that I would always remember exactly where this place was. It used to be the Lima Bean, after all.

Maybe I was in too much of a rush to feel the familiar sense of being home as I brushed passed the doors and into the building like I owned the place. Truthfully, I looked like a bit of a snob, my nose tipped into the air as I headed for the counter and ordered a drink. Being in Lima made me feel nostalgic, so I quickly ordered a medium, nonfat mocha and leaned against the waiting counter. I tapped my index finger against the hard surface as I scanned the crowd. There were a few people hanging around, sitting in various places. Most people were obvious and easily labeled. Nerdy college boy. High school cheerleader. Annoying hipster. There were a few possibilities for the person that I was there to meet. I thought about it, drumming that finger against the counter all the way until they called out my order loud enough for the room to hear. I turned my head, almost surprised as I was jolted out of my thoughts, eyebrows raised.

"Ooh yes." I said, nodding my head as I took the coffee from the barista. I pushed off of the counter, ready to take a wild guess and find the man I was here to meet. I picked the most likely candidate and as I stepped up behind him I raised a hand, even though he couldn't see me, and called out the name I was given.

"Joshua Cru?" I inquired, my voice confident and clear as I stepped around to the front of the stranger. My eyes were trained on his face, and so when I came around enough to see the features of the man I was speaking to I nearly fainted. I dropped my briefcase but managed to hold onto my coffee and reached out with my newly freed hand to hold onto the back of the closest chair. Yes. My name is Kurt Hummel, fashion icon and founder of Fem Nouveau, and my blue hues just fell on the man that had been my first love. I couldn't breathe. All of that confidence that I had built for myself before walking in just rushed out of me in one single second.

"Blaine.." I breathed out airily, because after all, how could I not recognize that face? Even with the glasses and the slight scruff, he was still the same Blaine I had known and loved; in the face at least. I had no idea that he actually was the person I was looking for, but I still lowered myself into a chair in front of his table anyway, swallowing thickly and panting out a few puffs of air, my expression trying to grasp an emotion but not sure which one to take. "Can I sit?" I asked, though I was already sitting down. It was like I didn't even realize, and truth be told, I didn't notice at all. His chocolate, hazel eyes were staring across the small table in between us and I felt like he was looking right through me; but not like he couldn’t see me, like he could see all of me in an instant.

#kurt hummel rp #klaine #klaine rp #klaine 1x1 #glee 1x1 #para #para: 001

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