Chapter 3

Songs used in this chapter:
Get Outta This Town, Carrie Underwood

Blaine knows he has the potential to get out of Ohio, if only he can rescue his tenacity. Since the Lima Bean, Blaine has realized that in order to avoid becoming the Midwests next generation of Kurt, he needs to get himself together and study for the stupid GED exam. (Even though his lame parole officer thinks he should return to his old school, he has a list of great reasons why he shouldn't.) Then, he needs to move to an acceptable city with a reputable gay community and make it a point to never look back. He knows nothing about Kurt besides the fact that he owns the Lima Bean and that he probably lives somewhere nearby.  This is enough to convince him that he must strive to be unlike Kurt at all costs.  All of his thoughts (positive and negative) seem to go back to Kurt, every single time he allows his mind to wander.

Although Kurt is a total townie, stuck here for the rest of his life, he is absolutely mesmerizing.  There's something about the man that shows Blaine that this probably isn't his dream at all.  Even though he feels drawn to Kurt, like there's something about him that makes Blaine want to rip down all of his walls he's spent years building and share his darkest secrets, he looks to Kurt and sees a man who is not in control of his own life.  He sees a man who's stuck in a place where he's not destined to be.

Kurt always looks sad and deep in thought with a frown illustrating his inner voice, as if he is beating himself up internally.  To Blaine, Kurt always seems withdrawn from reality, like he's grieving what could have been, what was his past, something or someone he can't get back.  He seems reserved, as though he has his guard up toward all people he doesn't know well. 

It's clear to Blaine that he is attracted to Kurt, there's no doubt about it, but he continues to be hesitant in truly wanting to know more.  Half of him wants to get inside Kurt's head, despite the sadness and loneliness attached to his existence, but the other half is shying away because he's here, in Lima, and there's no possibility that Ohio houses anyone worthy of learning more about. Blaine knows that each smile Kurt throws toward him and any other customer to walk through the door is merely a show for whoever's taking the time to watch him; it's a replica of Blaine's own circus act. 

Kurt is clearly in his late-ish twenties. Blaine's never had a thing for an older guy, but he finds that he doesn't mind that Kurt is probably about ten years his senior.  This unavoidable infatuation with Kurt isnt safe, it's actually quite dangerous, but he can't seem to shake it off.  He should shy away from interaction with anyone, let alone the coffee shop owner in his late twenties who is a perfect example of what not to be when Blaine matures.  

His usual table's surface in the Lima Bean is big enough for four and lies next to a pillar that attaches the ceiling to the floor. It displays thick molding meeting and crossing every corner in some sort of intricate design that wouldnt ever be considered by a bland person destined for Lima.  The detail of the interior design throughout the shop forces Blaine to stop and truly think about whether Kurt was in charge of the layout of the place.  The subtle swirls grooved into the wood are hypnotizing, and Blaine thinks that he must have subconsciously chosen this area to put forth some much-needed comfort into his life. The table itself is painted black and there are random letters cut out of a magazine glazed on with a silver glitter topcoat. It feels weird to blend into an environment where he is free to feel like himself, although hes not screaming and shouting that he's gay in all the stereotypes' glory. The prominent lyrics that are glued to the corner of the table speak to him on a different, more personal level.  They stand out more than any Pink or Katy Perry compilation ever could have back at Dalton Academy for Boys.  The lyrics bring life to everyone's common dream to get on, to move on, to endure in a happy ending.  Vintage Carrie Underwood, but so revolutionary to the way his heart feels, the lyrics take him away to another world. 

Windows rolled down with the heat on high
Stars all aligned in a runaway sky
Holdin my hand as the miles roll by
Long gone, baby

God, fuck Kurt, man!  He is the gayest of the gay, giving all gay men everywhere a bad name for themselves!  Why's he got to be so flamboyant, so annoying, so out there but subtly sad, too?  Straight female best friend counterparts everywhere are going to be sorely disappointed when they find out they all can't be Kurt.  So many men must be pining over the fact that they can't be with Kurt.  Kurt is the perfect specimen with his long, tight legs and his flawless face, his overall gorgeous body.  He works at an adorable coffee shop in a desolate town with pop songs etched into tables, and that very detail somehow makes Blaine even more attracted to him.  It's not Blaine's fault if he wants to know Kurt better.  If. 

By paying closer attention to the décor of the Lima Bean, Blaine realizes that he does know Kurt a little bit better.  He chooses to work in an environment that is decorated by someone who clearly doesn't care what the homophobic assholes think, and there is obvious personality drenched into the walls of the establishment.  He awkwardly hopes that Kurt was in charge of the art and décor displayed within the shop.  He wonders if Kurt is the influence behind the whole of Blaine's new favorite hangout: a music-driven coffee shop with personnel not bothered by his constant presence.

Blaine is the first to admit that the lyrics on all of the tables are pretty cheesy and super lame, and maybe even some of the worst lyrics there are within the pop industry.  But his table speaks to him so abundantly; they bring back the dream he once wanted, his thrive for happiness and success.  The lyrics put into speakable, singable words of exactly what was once his plan.  It's virtually impossible now. 

Its only a pipe dream, an absurd goal that is nothing more than a wish exhaled with warm breath, spitting and sputtering all over a birthday cake. He used to be able to see himself and a faceless partner, driving east with the town of Lima in the rear-view mirror, holding hands over the gears, heat blasting on high with the windows rolled down for the nip of a breeze.  Then, eight to ten hours later, they would be skipping down a New York avenue, hand in hand, long gone and together.

Even when he was a child, Blaine always had a sneaky suspicion of the truth of his sexuality.  Gratefully, and despite his family's efforts, he's never hated himself for it, not really, but he wishes frequently that he was born twenty years down the road.

But that's obviously not possible.  Can he get out of this place? Only time will tell but probably not.  He'll never be able to really disappear, to escape the wrath of expectations, from his father.  Would he ever find anyone to share his life with?  No, absolutely not, that takes actual effort to try and love himself.  He'd rather be alone for the rest of his life. 

He sits, defeated by his own reality, but somehow still absolutely fascinated by every fluid gazelle movement alongside a table that offers a perfect view regardless of where Kurt is floating. He keeps his study materials open at all times as a somewhat believable excuse, but he is admittedly indulging in more than studying Math and English.  He's studying Kurt.

It's just the GED.  Fuck studying, I could have passed that shit in the second grade. 

Blaine makes sure he is always out of the house between the hours of nine and three by marking in his brain to always be at the coffee shop. This is not to study, but to avoid as much time as possible at home during normal business hours, considering his father works from the home office most mornings and takes his meetings in the afternoon into happy hours and dinners.  He accepts his destiny of being beaten twice a week on average lately, however, and he knows that is now his normal capacity of what his life has to offer, regardless of any efforts to always stay away.  He really has no place to go anyway, so he gives up trying.  He is convinced he'll never be worth someone else's (or his own) love for as long as he should live, thanks to the thoughts that nearly everyone in his family engrained in his head from a very early age.   

He only avoids rethinking the overload of fatherly advice every time he orders at the counter of his newfound safe haven, the Lima Bean, meeting cerulean eyes with the same coloring as the globe. He sees into them again when he waits for his coffee to be poured or his croissant (sometimes chocolate, sometimes plain) to be warmed up.  He floats into another universe, where an entire conversation passes through each other's hearts seamlessly and without tension or fear of saying something wrong for the other's ears to hear.

There's something beyond the physical that pulls Blaine to Kurt.  It's like the universe has arranged this chance meeting and wouldn't allow them to walk away from it if their lives depended on it.  Sometimes, he looks at Kurt already looking at him and he can just tell that he feels it.  Oddly enough, Blaine recognizes that watching Kurt every day at work doesn't feel wrong or creepy or unwelcomed.  It feels natural, easy, like he can't remember what his life was like without Kurt in it.  It's like all of his past lives wound up with Kurt in them; he's not learning anything new, he's remembering.  Blaine realizes now that he has a constant in Kurt, even just his presence without spoken words.

Their interaction, or lack thereof, soon becomes a game, a challenge of whos going to speak up and start a conversation first.  The tension is thick, but somehow still welcomed, insisted upon from both parties.  Blaine feels complete, knowing that Kurt is present.  He exists.  There's a tie between the two that he can't understand or explain, but doesn't feel the need to because he likes it even if it stays as it is now.  To know that he is there – that someone is there – is enough. 

It sounds crazy in Blaine's head, as he's sure it sounds in Kurt's.  Regardless of the silence, the Lima Bean becomes a safe and comfortable place for Blaine in a way he so desperately needs but never realizes.  He is protected within the walls of a measly coffee shop on Main Street, and he actually wouldn't have it any other way.  The Lima Bean and studying and watching Kurt quickly become a tireless routine.  He is nothing without his routine.  Blaine is finally content on some level; he can finally escape the mess and constant drama of his parents' house, and can almost feel like he belongs somewhere.  It's like he's always belonged right where he is.

***

June

It is Monday morning, two full weeks into his new normal routine. At last, there is no honest evidence of the previous incident with his father, no more traces of hate painted on his skin.  He's surprised that Christian has let off of him for this long.

Staring at people (only one matters) and reading boring excerpts from textbooks doesn't really hurt much. The past week, though, Blaines days have been full of scouring the Internet for sample tests courtesy of the coffee shops free WiFi connection (entitled "The Rachel Berry on Broadway Project, Not Starring Me"… reasons are unknown).

He had made it a point to wrap himself in practice exams he's found this week as though he were in an actual classroom, and like the curriculum was actually challenging.  Spreading out on his usual table in a mess of pencils and scribbled-upon papers so thick and crinkled with notes they crease at the corners, he stares at but doesn't really look at the papers in front of him. 

English has always come naturally to him, as it should, and he has never understood how the imbeciles of Crazytown, Ohio, could never differentiate between your and youre, or effect and affect.  Allowing his brain to expand to bigger, broader thoughts than just Lima, he also doesnt understand how anyone could not determine the correct rules and exceptions of the language they fucking speak fluently. 

Blaine is admittedly distracted. In the past few hours, hes only thought about his life and how it might interfere with Kurt's, The Dalton Academy for Boys out in Westerville, and the English language or lack thereof as it relates to the losers from his hometown. He has thought nothing of the complications that studying for the GED might force upon him, but he admittedly doesn't have to really try to ace this thing, anyway.  He knows how book-smart he is; where he lacks in skills is on how not to get caught with a thesaurus down his pants. 

He's always distracted, always staring into space and contemplating philosophical wonders of the world, trying to figure out how his old friends are, and if they'd ever want to see him again if he ever decided to give them a call. He had totally isolated himself from their lives; could it be so easy to ask for forgiveness and just hang out again like old times, without the questioning of his black eyes and bruised ribs? His mind drifts to his friends from his old life.  Jeff and Nick played the important role of his main support system throughout the coming-out fiasco of eighth grade, and they are the reason Blaine decided to transfer to Dalton in the first place, but he hardly knows them anymore. He does know, however, that neither of them would ever need a law counselor parole officer girl, like little Miss Snarky Santana Lopez. He knows that hes the most likely to fail in life out of all of the boys from Dalton, and he has seemingly ruined his life and created a record for himself just to subconsciously demand attention from his parents who hate him.

Blaine yearns for normalcy but doesn't know how to go back to his old life without entering the foster care system, and that's scarier to him than jail. He's desperately trying to ride it out until he's eighteen and then he can be free, far away from here.  He does not want to discuss anything with Santana, not yet, and the longer he can put that off, the better.  He knows that the story of his life is an inevitable conversation with his parole officer, but he doubts that she'll even believe him. 

Christian Anderson is a good man; he'd never hurt his child for being gay.  He defends the gays who kill their bullies all the time!

He hopes she doesn't try because things could get ugly if she pushes Blaine into a conversation he doesn't want to have; he knows this from experience on several occasions with basically everyone who has wanted to help.

He sneaks a quick peak at his newly replaced phone with the new number. He doesn't care what time it is, but he presses the Home button anyway to check, then sighs and clicks it back to black.

No one has this number; it was stupid to even replace the phone, to carry it around as if hes expecting a phone call or text message, after his last met the wall with rage when Lopez tried to take him under her wing and care.  Everyone who's ever cared for him in the past has either left him alone, gave up, or stopped caring.  The easiest way to not get hurt is to not get close to anyone.  It's a simple concept that is not hard to fuck up. 

He knows Santana Lopez's type – over-affected Lima Losers, stuck here to rot away by their own fault, but still attempting to assist the unworthy. Come to think of it, Blaine assumes that this is also Kurt to a tee, and it scares him that Kurt might hold him back in life, back in Lima, if they inevitably hook up and spend part of their lives together.  Maybe he just wants a younger play thing.  Even so, Blaine's sure he'd oblige. 

It's natural.  They are both human beings with desires.  He glances up to where Kurt is once more and proudly gathers his proof of mutual fascination and stores it in his brain to use later.  Blaine smirks at himself, lost in his own thoughts completely unrelated to the stupid GED preparation and entirely all about not being able to move his arms or legs as Kurt pounds into his pucker ruthlessly.

Despite Kurts fucked-up life on display for Blaine to analyze, Blaine knows that hes safe here at the Lima Bean.  It's not fair, but he doesn't want to be judged by Kurt the way he's judging the man, and he has a feeling that Kurt wouldn't anyway. He knows that his father's office is nearby so he might see his assistant here occasionally, or a co-worker, but he doubts that they would ever approach him now, so he escapes from the shield hes built with every jingle of the bell to announce his arrival.

He bounces to the line a little late this morning thanks to the complex thinking, and he is euphoric in this moment by himself with no one to answer to.  He waits for his coffee and croissant because hes proud of his survival thus far. There is a feel-good tune in his ears, something encouraging and willing to make the best of his day, regardless of how shitty the rest of them may be. He brushes Kurts hand when he purposely reaches for his cup like he does every morning, and proceeds to the condiment counter to mix and taste and mix again. He sits at his table, opens his English textbook, and refreshes his memory of eighth-grade-level rules and regulations of his prominent language.

***

Kurt once felt like his potential could seize him soaring all the way to New York City, NYADA, then to Broadway and Marc Jacobs and Vogue.com and beyond. Kurt is a dreamer; this list of dreams, though, is currently closed and painstakingly unavailable. He put his life on hold so many years ago on account of escaping Eddie, the abusive ex-boyfriend, and is still trying to regain the motivation he had at one point to make things happen.  He misses his college days, when he felt he could do anything: joining the revolution of same sex marriage while designing a full Fall Collection and coursing through the latest theater announcements for the new slew of open calls. Nights would forever include galas with celebrities and buzzing around the Vogue office until the deadlines were met with the creative department and ad agencies, and positively encouraging one-lined emails from Ms. Wintour herself.

Smack; reality appeared. The graduation ceremony at Lincoln Center came and went, and Kurt found himself sweating through a brutal July, sitting on a milk crate in the middle of the Bushwick apartment on Irving Street that he most certainly could not afford by himself, next to his last remaining suitcase, waiting for his father, his amazing always-supportive-no-matter-what father Burt, to hurry up and pee before hitting the road or getting a ticket for double-parking the U-Haul downstairs.  He felt like the closure to New York had been a long time coming, with that of his brutal breakup and nothing really happening the way he'd wanted it to.  He felt like it was time to kiss New York goodbye, maybe not forever but definitely for the time being.  This reality became Kurts destiny after his best friend and now ex-roommate, Rachel, was summoned to Los Angeles for a TV pilot that later was picked up and promised money and fame and sunshine in Malibu on her days off. He was ecstatic for her, really. He was also envious, so envious, and missed her and all of her crazy, supportive love.

At the end of Kurts own evaluation of his life as he knew it in New York, there was just no financially stable way to keep his East Coast lifestyle with his school loans looming over him soon like the blackest of hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar clouds and his minimal-at-best salary between the three jobs he held.  At Rachel's announcement, their third roommate, Santana, bailed so even if he had wanted to stay, even if he hadn't already given up as soon as “I got the part!” left Rachel's lips, his decision had been made.  He moved home, to Lima.

It was supposed to be a year or two at most, but then everything happens for a reason, and Finn happened and he couldn't seem to want to leave again.  Finn, his stepbrother, was the superman that saved him from high school.  Finn rescued him from himself, encouraged him to stand up to the bullies and the assholes, and pushed him to step into the limelight he deserved by moving to New York with Rachel for college. 

Finn was so selfless, seeing off two of the most important people in his life to a city that could very well swallow them whole, but the faith Finn had in both of them pushed them to continue.  With every ramen-flavored dinner and every babysitting gig, the two survived because Finn believed in them.

He's been gone for several years now, and there's not a day that goes by that Kurt doesn't feel incomplete without Finn by his side.  The loss of his brother hurts, but leading a life without Finn gets to be more normal as the years go on.

As each senior class graduates from McKinley High, the first ever National Championship Glee Club gathers by Finn's tree to remember him.  On every graduation day since Finn passed away, they have returned together to the tree behind the football field to catch up for each other and for Finn.  Everyone has made it a point to be there for the past six years except Rachel.  She hasn't even been there once.  Today, Kurt gets ready as best he can and goes to remember his brother.  On his drive over, he thinks about the times he's wanted to call Finn.  He stores those instances away for use in front of the group.

Everything is always temporary and nothing is permanent. 

This is Kurts mantra hes been repeating for years. This is what he chanted under his breath as Rachel signed the Lima Bean over to him five years ago when her father left it to her in his will; she couldn't possibly step foot back in Lima with her last remaining father and Finn gone. Rachel is the over-determined, under-nostalgic annoying little friend that keeps on giving, and although her reasons for Kurt obtaining the Lima Bean were selfish, it's worked out for the best.  He'd literally be nowhere without her always saving him.  They survived in New York together, they mourned together, and they went their own ways.

Rachel started out as a silent partner in the Lima Bean business, splitting any profit with Kurt 40/60, so long as he had complete interior design control over the look and feel of the place. You can do whatever you want, Rachel said. I trust you, Rachel said.  It was all his and she'd just wait for her checks and help him out with the income taxes and filing at the end of each year. She made good on all of the promises, and when she was making enough of her own through TV and appearances, she gifted the other 40% to Kurt completely. Shes his best friend… his best friend that hasnt seen him in years. He should really go visit and see how the other half lives.  Or at the very least, call her.

His apartment is conveniently located directly above the Lima Bean. When Rachel signed over the coffee shop, she was actually gifting him the entire building, unbeknownst to him until he unwrapped his Christmas present, an oversized box with a bow bigger than his head, containing only two house keys.  Only Rachel gives a house away for Christmas, a holiday she doesn't even celebrate. He probably could have rented it out for an additional income and stayed in his old room two miles to the east at his father's house, or he could have actually grown up and had a place of his own.  The choice was his.

Even though it was only Downtown Lima and not New York or LA, Kurt spent the better portion of his extra profits from the coffee shop to make his apartment as Hummel-fied as possible. He ordered custom upholstery for his custom furniture, and made his drapes himself from a tulle and leather-bonded fabric he found on the Internet, shipped directly from Tel Aviv. His color scheme was warm and neutral, with small details that were more feminine than most men would have preferred.

Kurt made the apartment his, so completely Kurt that he was comfortable staying in.  He couldn't be in New York anymore, at least not alone, where memories could haunt him constantly until driving him mad, so he subconsciously made the best out of a situation that was second best to all of his previous dreams.  He didn't have much in Lima anymore, so he spent all of his time decorating and redecorating the apartment for his own personal enjoyment.  Regardless of how smooth the throw was neatly folded across the back of the couch, or where he got the silk for his comforter, the apartment still seemed to miss something, like there should have been someone else there to enjoy time the home.  Kurt couldn't shake the feeling of how cold his bed felt or how quiet it was when the television wasn't set to Bravo.  Unfortunately, this is something he'd gotten dreadfully used to.