This fic is a future AU based on the song Payphone by Maroon 5. The first song used is Darren Criss's I Still Think from Little White Lie, the second is I Dreamed A Dream from Les Miserables. I don't own Glee, or any of the three songs but I do love them. Please enjoy and review.
Payphone
By: Actresswithoutastage
Chapter 1
"Whiskey and Coke, please." Blaine Anderson said as he sat down heavily on the bar stool. He spent a lot more time in bars than he ever remembered. He'd come in at around 9:00 order a whiskey and coke and nurse it as he brooded. Occasionally a guy would come up and offer to buy him a drink and even more rarely he would let them.
On these occasions he would wake up in some strangers apartment, remembering most of the night but not the stranger's name. He'd sneek out, go home, shower, and go to work. More often than not though, he went home—if one could call the crappy faculty housing apartment home—and not sleep.
He had chosen a different bar tonight, tired of running into his students at Sidelines, a sports bar right next to campus. This one was called Roosevelt's and was much quieter than Sidelines, though no less packed. It seemed to cater to an older crowd and was filled mostly with businessmen and NYU faculty. You could hear the radio, tuned to some top 40 station, over the barroom chatter.
He had been there two hours and had uncharacteristically ordered another drink, then another, then another. He deserved it, he reasoned. His life was falling apart and even if it wasn't, he no longer had anyone to share it with. He was well on his way to hammered when someone sat down next to him.
"Hi, I'm Kurt." the man said. His voice was soft, almost angelic and, much as he didn't want to, Blaine looked up.
What greeted him was perfectly coifed chestnut hair, flawless pale skin, and the most vibrant blue eyes he had ever seen. "Blaine." he mumbled and looked down again.
This guy didn't look like the anonymous sex type and he wasn't in the mood anyway.
"I've never seen you here before. Do you live in New York?" Kurt asked.
Blaine took a deep breath and was about to tell the other man to go away when he caught the music on the radio. He froze.
And now, how we like to say that we're in love
Doesn't seem like that should be enough,
But the world will roll their eyes
But I still think
I still think that we're in love
"Oh, my god I hate this song. Something about that guy's voice gets on my nerves." Kurt declared wrinkling his upturned nose.
I don't play much
But I do enjoy having the ball in my court
And once more I like playing for love
"I think I'm going to be sick." Blaine said and ran out the door.
Kurt watched the curly headed man run out of the bar with a concerned look. He had, in truth, been watching Blaine all night and thought he looked sad. Thinking he might cheer him up, he had gone over to talk to him, but he didn't think he had gotten anywhere.
With a sigh, he turned in his seat and ordered another drink. When it arrived, he lifted it to his lips and looked over to find that Blaine had left his jacket on the back of his chair. It was pouring down rain outside. Kurt sat down his drink and grabbed the jacket, hoping he could catch the other man.
Blaine couldn't breathe, he looked wildly around the street, hoping for a taxi but it was empty. He couldn't drive home. He'd just have to call Tina. He knew how much his secretary hated picking him up in the middle of the night but she always insisted she'd rather do so than have him drive drunk.
He pulled out his cell phone. Dead. "DAMNIT!" he shouted, kicking at nothing and looking around again.
The street was still empty, but a few steps away from the bar was a phone booth. He didn't think they still had those things anymore. He shrugged and stepped in, dropping some change from his pocket and lifted the receiver. Silence greeted him. The payphone was busted as well.
He threw the receiver and slammed his fist against the wall of the booth, his head bowed. Without warning, he began to sob and slid to the floor. Soaking wet and crying in a phone booth. Yep, that seemed about right.
A faint knock sounded and Blaine looked up to see a blurry figure standing outside.
"It's broken!" he shouted "Leave me alone!"
"Um, Blaine? It's Kurt. From the bar? You left your jacket..." Kurt's voice trailed off. After a silence so long, Kurt didn't think the other man was going to respond, the accordion door opened.
Blaine was still sitting on the floor of the phone booth. And, Kurt realized with alarm, crying. Without a word, he stepped in, closed the door and sat down opposite Blaine, handing him his jacket.
"Want to talk about it?" he asked.
"Not really." Blaine replied, then a second later, "That song on the radio? The one you hate? That's mine. I wrote it and that...bastard stole it."
"You wrote I Still Think?" Kurt asked. This guy must be pretty far gone.
"Yep. You don't believe me. That's okay, I doubt anyone will. Want to know the worst part?" he asked and didn't wait for a response before going on. "The worst part is that I wrote it about him."
Kurt was beginning to get uncomfortable. "Do you need a ride home?" he asked. Standing up and holding out a hand as he did so.
"Yes, but I don't want you to-"
"I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't willing to do it, Blaine." Kurt interrupted, his hand still extended.
Finally, Blaine took it and allowed Kurt to haul him to his feet. With the taller man's arm around him for support, they walked to a black SUV. Kurt helped him into the passenger seat and then got in himself.
"Okay were to?" he asked, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel to the tune of what Blaine recognized as a song from Les Mis�rables.
"Um, the SUNY campus." he said.
"You go to school there?" Kurt asked with a tilt of his head
"No, I'm a professor. Music theory. I am staying in the on campus apartments."
"Oh, okay." Kurt set his GPS and began to hum as he pulled off the curb, then to sing.
But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
As they turn your dream to shame
"You have a beautiful voice." Blaine murmured reverently. He had never heard a voice so pure and clear.
"Thank you." said Kurt, his pale cheeks turning pink. "Is this it?"
They had stopped right in front of the plain brick building that had served as Blaine's home for nearly a month. "Yeah." he said. He tripped getting out of the car and nearly fell on his face.
"Maybe I should help you into your place." said Kurt, almost wanting to laugh.
Kurt got out of the car and helped Blaine out of it and to the door. "Where are your keys?" he asked.
"In my pocket." Without a word, Kurt reached into the pocket of Blaine's soaked jeans and pulled out his keys. Once the door was open they stepped inside the dark apartment, Kurt was thankful that Blaine didn't live on the second floor.
Blaine seemed a bit steadier as he gently shrugged off Kurt's arm and turned on the light, flooding the living room with bright florescence causing both men to wince.
"Thanks for your help." Blaine said, clearly intending on dismissing him.
"I'm not done yet." Kurt said. "Where is your bedroom?"
"Um through there," Blaine said, confused. What was this strange boy up to?
Blaine led the way to his bedroom.
Kurt immediately sought out the light and turned it on. "On the bed." he ordered
"What are you doing?" Blaine asked
"Helping my drunk friend get into bed." Kurt said with a kind smile. Blaine wasn't sure he'd ever seen anyone smile at him like that.
Kurt had made astonishingly quick work of Blaine's shoes and suit jacket.
"I didn't even notice you taking those off." he said. "I didn't think I was that drunk."
Kurt laughed "I work on a costume crew. I do quick changes for a living." Kurt reached up and untied Blaine's tie with nimble fingers. "I don't think I have ever done this to a person in private that I didn't intend to sleep with." he mused.
"You don't intend to sleep with me?" Blaine asked flashing Kurt a mock disappointed look.
Kurt laughed and swatted him in the chest. "I don't sleep with drunk guys. Not unless I am drunk too anyway. Much more fun that way."
Blaine smiled, the first time he had done so in a long time.
"Wow," said Kurt, slightly breathless "That's some smile you have. You should do that more often."
They looked at each other for a long moment before they heard a loud clattering sound on the roof.
"Hail" Blaine said simply, "You're not going anywhere in this. You can stay here."
"Oh, I couldn't-"
"Kurt if you hadn't followed me out of that bar I would probably still be crying in a phone booth. Consider it a thank you." Blaine smiled again, but this one didn't quite reach his eyes. "There's a futon in the living room, blankets in the hall closet. Mom is always afraid I don't have enough blankets. She's from Florida so she's always cold..."
Kurt had a distracted look.
"Sorry, I tend to ramble when I'm drunk."
"Huh? No, I wasn't-I'm sorry, I just zoned out. Thank you for letting me stay here.'
"You're welcome." With that, Kurt left, closing the bedroom door behind him. He found the blankets and arranged the futon the way he wanted it and was soon asleep.
The next morning, Kurt was awakened at dawn by the light streaming through the front window. Unwilling to lay in bed until Blaine got up, he began to explore the rest of the house.
The kitchen was small, hardly anything in the cabinets or fridge. The bathroom was equally tiny and ill-equipped. There was one more door in the hall besides the one that led to Blaine's bedroom. Assuming he would find an office, Kurt opened the door.
Inside was what appeared to be a studio. A keyboard, guitar and violin were set around the edges of the room. A desk was set up with a computer that Kurt was sure contained serious music editing software. Stacks of papers and binders were everywhere and in the center of the room was a chair and music stand. Kurt began looking at the stacks of papers, which turned out to be sheet music, all of it handwritten.
"Kurt?" a drowsy voice asked from the doorway.
"Blaine, I'm sorry. I woke up and you were still asleep and I started looking around and-"
"It's fine, I was just surprised. Do you want breakfast? I don't have anything here but we could go out."
"You really did write I Still Think didn't you?" Kurt said rather than answer.
"Yes. Breakfast?" Blaine said, he was avoiding the topic now that he was sober, making Kurt all the more curious.
"Sure." he said and followed Blaine out of the room. He didn't even know this man's last name but he had never been more intrigued by anyone in his life. The mystery of Blaine was one he was determined to solve.