~~

The day of graduation had come much sooner than he had expected. It was only a few days later when Kurt was seated with the rest of his year level in the auditorium, listening to Quinn’s speech. She didn’t follow the clich�s. Instead, she stood with poise and a gentleness that she had rarely let others see over the last few months.

“Every great dream begins with a dreamer,” she said, surveying the room. “Always remember you have within you the strength,” she smiled as she caught his eye, before continuing, “the patience,” here she looked to Artie, “and the passion to reach for the stars to change the world.” At passion she had turned to Rachel, who admittedly was possibly one of the most passionate people any of them had ever met.

The crowd erupted in applause, with Quinn smiling graciously and cheeks growing pink at the reaction she’d provoked. She looked beautiful, utterly cherubic, her golden hair cascading down her back in waves and her makeup picture perfect. Kurt tilted his head, showing his respect. This was the proudest he’d ever been of her.

People smiled as they collected their certificates, some pausing to take photos as they shook the hand of Principal Figgins. The parents cheered, Burt whooped loudly for both Kurt and Finn, as Carole grinned, waving, with tears in her eyes.

He ignored the looks from a certain few narrow minded people, that shook their heads and whispered when it was his turn on stage. Instead he smiled and posed for Carole’s photo, grinning his widest smile.

They met as a family outside the doors of McKinley, as others made their way out to change for celebrations. Burt couldn’t stop grinning, and enveloped Kurt in his arms. Finn was talking about whether he could have a reward for finishing high school, as Carole just laughed as she pulled him close.

Finn twirled her, beaming, as Rachel walked by with her two dads. “Call me when you get back,” she instructed Kurt, “We’ll set up a girl’s night.” He laughed and nodded, before Rachel turned to start making plans with Finn for tomorrow.

Mercedes was the next to spot him, laughing as she ran to him. She took him by the arm, and looked at him solemnly. “Boy, you’re going to meet someone. A gorgeous Italian is going to sweep you off your feet!” She looked so utterly excited by her premonition that he didn’t even argue. Burt just smothered a laugh, one hand still on Kurt’s shoulder.

He promised to text or call at least once a day, and then Mercedes was racing off again to find her parents. Kurt made sure to find Quinn and tell her that she’d done an amazing job, and as she took his hand in hers before kissing him on the cheek, he realised just how much he would miss everyone. “Be careful. Don’t do anything too ostentatious.” She said, before wandering off to farewell more people.

Dinner was loud. Burt and Finn had decided on the steakhouse for dinner. It was tacky, wood print wallpaper with road signs hanging behind the bar. Kurt supposed that it was meant to look like a log cabin, it even had the mounted animal heads hanging off the walls, but instead it just looked so very Lima.

It was also filled to the brim with people, as was probably every other restaurant in Lima. “… and that receiver!” Kurt was trying to pay attention to the conversation, despite the fact that it was about football.

Finn and Puck had been short listed for a football scholarship at the local college. Puck hadn’t been too excited, claiming that he could have made it anywhere. For Finn, however, this was possibly the only way that he was going to get into a college.

“What if I took a class like sport psychology?” Finn asked starry-eyed, as he tore apart a bun. Kurt almost laughed but managed to just smile, as Carole patted her son on the arm and encouraged him not to make a rash decision.

“Kurt? Kurt, honey?” Carole was looking at him now, as though he’d missed part of the conversation. She chewed her lip slightly as Burt filled him in. “You have to make a decision now.” He said slowly, as though he was hoping everything would go over easy.

Kurt sighed, running a finger around the rim of his glass as he tried to explain. “Look, dad, this was my trip,” he said slowly. “I don’t want to take anyone with me. I want to go and celebrate my independence. I want to take in the fashion capital of the world before I go to college.” He avoided looking at them all now.

He wasn’t sure how his family would take it. Would they be offended? Would they be mad? What if Carole was disappointed in him, and his rejection to the presence of her son? So, instead of looking at them, he looked at Finn. The safe option. He was sipping at his root beer float, and Kurt was amazed that Finn had the ability to always look young despite the fact that he was one of the oldest of their year.

“That’s okay, Kurt.” Burt and Carole sounded strange, although he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. They lapsed into silence, and Kurt wondered if anyone else in the restaurant noticed the tense huddle in the midst of them all.

It was the middle of the night when they got home. Carole and Burt said their goodnights almost immediately, assuring him that they’d talk more in the morning. Kurt couldn’t help it; that night he resented the hand that clapped him on the shoulder.

He sat in the kitchen, watching as Finn pulled random items out of the fridge to devour, despite having just eaten. Neither spoke, which was fine with them. Kurt was busy making plans. His bags were packed, he had the plane ticket, he could always try to trade it in for one on an earlier flight.

Leaving Finn behind with his peanut butter-jelly-nutella sandwich, he went to his room. Throwing the last few things into his suitcase, he ripped a page out of one of his notebooks to scrawl a quick note to his father.

‘I’m leaving the nest Dad, and I know that scares you. You wont lose me though. I’ll be home in 10 days. I need this adventure, I need this to find my independence, and while you don’t understand that now I think that you will when I get home. I love you. I’ll stay safe and I’ll call every few days at least.’

He leaves it on his pillow, because he know that if he’s not at breakfast in the morning, they’ll check his bed next. He doesn’t leave a note for Carole, because he’s fairly sure that she already has some idea of what he’s going to do. Lugging his suitcase up the stairs, he avoids the kitchen and creeps out the front door. Once in the Navigator he feels a rush of adrenaline, and grinning he makes his way to the airport.

It took almost 10 hours to get to Milan and he slept through almost all of it. He was stuck between two elderly women, who both thought he was adorable and pinched his cheeks with an odd clucking sound when he took his seat. Lucky for him, soon enough they had better things to do. Almost as soon as they took off the lady on his right fell asleep, which made him wonder why she had been arguing so much for the window seat. The woman to his left was engrossed in a new thriller novel with murder and mayhem. He fell asleep to the sounds of her gasps at the wild plot twists.

He woke early enough to catch the end of a bad movie, before they were coming into the landing. The women squawked tips at each other about how to damp down their nausea, and Kurt prayed that they worked. He’d worn his new loafers and definitely did not need them covered in vomit.

He found the tour bus outside the airport, the leader of which was a small women with olive skin and a pointed face. Her hair was pulled into a thick braid and her English was distinctly accented. She had set out specific seats for people on the bus, and had taken it upon herself to book twenty double rooms instead of forty singles. “To cut the costs of trip.” She said, with barely a backward glance at them.

They took the long way from the airport to the hotel, stopping first at the Arch of Peace. It was tall and white, with thousands of intricate little motifs. Statues of horseman stood atop, and tall columns added a sense of majesty. They piled out of the bus, wandered around taking photos for five minutes before the tour guide blew her whistle signalling for them to gather around her.

“Arch was started in1806,” she said disinterested, “demanded by Napoleon. Napoleon dies, and arch is left incomplete. Begins again in 1826, to be dedicated to the peace in 1815. Arch finally finished in 1833.” She looked up at the puzzled faces of her customers, and surmising that there were no questions, ordered them all back onto the bus.

Kurt was seated next to a rather large man who was middle aged, balding, and extremely sweaty. He was wearing a business suit, whereas everyone else was wearing more summery clothes to suit the weather. He’d snorted when Kurt took his seat next to him, and shuffled away. The older man resolutely stared out the window, as Kurt read his guide. Many others were ignoring their partners too. Kurt personally thought that stupid group activities should have been left behind in high school.

Their next stop was the Santa Maria delle Grazie, the tour guide grabbed a small Italian flag from under her seat and lead the way off the bus. She stopped and chatted to the woman manning the tickets desk, while Kurt and the others milled around, waiting to be let in. The building was not overly impressive from the outside, instead just looking like a regular church, but in the refectory was the masterpiece they were here to see - namely, the Last Supper.

Other tourists made their way into the building so the cashier waved them through. The guide did not stop to let people admire things as they passed, instead, she screeched shrilly over her shoulder that everyone was walking too slow. Kurt tried not to be disappointed, pushing himself a little faster with a sigh.

According to the guide, they had two minutes scheduled with the painting before they had to leave. They were not to take photos, and they were not to get in the way of anyone else wanting to view it. Kurt wanted to say something, wanted to complain about the way that this was falling far short of his expectations, but he bit his tongue. This was only the first day after all.

The tour continued to be disappointing. The guide informed them that because they had overstayed at previous locations, the rest of the locations for that day had been scratched off the list. She didn’t look at them as she said this, instead crossing things off on her clipboard before pulling back out onto the road. Kurt slipped his headphones in, and ignored the man next to him who was jabbering about how mp3 players had been banned from the tour.

When he had booked the tour, Kurt had been of the impression that he was going to be staying in something that was around 3 stars. He had not, however, expected a small hovel. He had a room that was the approximate size of the bathroom he had at home, and far less glamorous.

There were two single beds, an end table, a lamp, and a Virgin Mary but that was the extend of the furniture. The drawers were under the beds, and the cupboard in the corner was locked. The wallpaper was peeling, and there was mould seeping in the cornices. The carpet had been stained by a number of things he didn’t want to think about, and there was no window.

Kurt didn’t bother unpacking, and left the room before the surly businessman decided that he needed someone to vent at. He made his way to the roof with a sketchbook, and looking out over the city that was just going to sleep, he began to draw.

It was hours before he even grew hungry, but when his last ray of light was disappearing he pulled himself out of the artistic reverie. He stood stretching, satisfied as he heard the cracks of his joints. He picked his sketchpad up off the floor and held in closer to the grate in front of him that had a little bit of artificial light filtering through it.

He was proud of the drawing. He’d caught the lady on the corner that was peddling flowers, the couple that had spent the last few hours at the corner caf�, and the fiddler who was playing outside of the hotel itself. He’d added in the lanterns that were hanging off the back of the hotel to light up the alleyway.

He blew the graphite dust off the page just as a burst of hot air blew through the grate. Kurt watched with wide eyes as the humid air practically melted his hard work off the page. The paper going damp in his fingers. He couldn’t tear his eyes away as the faces melted off the people, the strings melted off the fiddle, and the light melted out of the lanterns. He hung his head, and another blast erupted out of the grate, undoing all the bonds he’d put his put his hair with the hairspray.

Hanging his head he tore up the picture. He felt anger flare within him, as he caught sight of the pencils he’d used so he threw them off the top of the building with a small, frustrated scream. He picked up his sketchpad and headed back to the room. His roommate was already in bed and snoring loudly, his chest bare, and the blankets riding low on his hips.

Kurt was of the firm belief that anyone who looked like that should at least wear a shirt to bed, if not a complete set of pyjamas. He slipped on a pair of gym shorts and a singlet, before crawling into bed.