“Of course you were going to bring Quinn and Sebastian. Why did it even cross my mind that you wouldn't?”

“Are you mad at me?” Blaine pouted.

“I'm not mad, I just...” Really didn't want anyone else, least of all Sebastian, to see me in overalls. But Kurt couldn't deny that painting would go a lot faster with two extra sets of hands and really, he did like Quinn and Sebastian, and he liked their artwork. Even if Sebastian was currently looking at all of the pictures in his apartment and Quinn was nosing around the bookcase.

“You had a serious case of baby cheeks back in the day, Princess,” Sebastian said with almost malicious glee.

“You have Crime and Punishment, but you don't have The Brothers Karamazov?” The Pink Lady was wearing her “I am judging you and I'm not going to bother pretending that I'm not” look and while Kurt had never been the direct victim of her look before, he certainly didn't appreciate it.

“Now that you've all had a good look at my personal belongings,” Kurt said loudly, “let the painting commence. And please, nothing vulgar or inappropriate, or else I will be forced to unleash my cat on every piece of dark clothing you own.”

Sebastian raised his hand. “Does my face count as inappropriate?”

“Every. Piece. Of clothing.”

“Does he talk like that in bed?” Quinn asked Blaine conversationally.

The three street artists worked with the same degree of intensity that they brought to their street art as well. Kurt had a mild problem in his hands when Quinn staunchly refused to use anything other than the pink paints she had brought with her, but in the end, he convinced her to stick with red. Unfortunately, she kept painting shadows of objects (did a fireplace really need a shadow?) and with the particular shade of dark maroon she'd chosen, his furniture appeared to be bleeding.

He had an even bigger problem when Sebastian sneaked into his bedroom under the guise of a bathroom break to hurriedly paint a rainbow right above his desk, all without putting tarp down or even dusting the place in preparation.

“It's dripping,” Kurt lamented, all but whimpering at the sight.

“If you say that rainbows are inappropriate, I'd have to slap you.”

“That's my line.”

“You have to admit it cheers the place up,” Quinn pointed out, although she made it clear she wasn't taking sides by pinching Sebastian's abdomen, pointedly ignoring his pained yelp. Kurt joined in the pinching, heaping insult after insult on Sebastian's head, as Blaine stood by and examined the rainbow, thinking privately to himself that it did brighten up Kurt's room although of course it was rude to paint a rainbow without Kurt's permission—it wasn't gentlemanly.

After the initial anger, Kurt sent Sebastian to his own little corner where he stood sulking, running his brush everywhere and playing obnoxious music on his boombox. Kurt complained at first because “You have the audacity to not only ruin the interior of my house but also play offending music?” Quick to resolve arguments as always, Blaine helped the two compromise on certain song selections and Quinn snickered from the sidelines, painting her bloody shadows.

Turned out that Sebastian could sing as well, and more than once they had to stop painting, look up the lyrics to a song they all managed to agree on, and then start to harmonize.

Some nights, I stay up cashing in my bad luck

Some nights, I call it a draw

Some nights, I wish that my lips could build a castle

Some nights, I wish they'd just fall off

Blaine and Sebastian were leading men, easily trading off the main lyrics as Quinn hummed in the background. Kurt felt his heart pulse faintly—he'd once believed he had the talent and charisma to be a leading man—and as Blaine met his gaze and grinned wide, he had to smile back.

But I still wake up, I still see your ghost

Oh Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for oh

What do I stand for? What do I stand for?

Most nights, I don't know anymore...

As Sebastian contented himself with mini-versions of the rainbow he'd left in Kurt's room (Kurt was going to paint over that with vengeance) along with tiny forest animals (at least there weren't any rats), Blaine was actually using a roller and covering a wall with a rather cheerful shade of yellow. Kurt had been thinking about a pink and yellow scheme, though he acknowledged that they were more “baby nursery colors” than anything else. A long time ago, he would have gone for soft shades of blue and green, something to match his eyes and keep him quiet and calm, but now it's as if someone had tipped sunshine and marshmallows into the room.

Blaine, with his sleeves rolled up, was mouthing along to the music still blasting from Sebastian's boombox. He and Kurt were the only ones to completely paint over the walls, leaving Quinn and Sebastian to wait for the paint to dry before attacking with renewed energy, leaving doodles and drawings all over the place.

His apartment looked less like an adult man's meticulous bachelor pad and more like a children's playroom.

House, family, 2.5 kids.

Slow down there, Hummel.

They took a lunch break, eating cold sandwiches bought from the deli Kurt was so fond of, and he learned that Quinn liked eating the tomato slices separately or else they would soak through the bread. Sebastian on the other hand piled pickles on everything, and Kurt couldn't resist poking fun because really? Pickles? (It had nothing to do with the way they were shaped.)

It was when they were finishing up their sodas that Sebastian groped Kurt again, though “groping” was a tentative term because all Sebastian did was feel up his chest for a moment. Kurt slapped his hand away and then his cheek for good measure, with Quinn tsk-ing and Blaine puffing up with anger.

“Don't touch him,” he snapped brusquely at Sebastian.

“He likes it.”

“I do not.”

“If you do that again—”

“It's not like I'm interested because I'm not, but you have to admit he has a nice body.”

“I agree,” Quinn said for no reason.

Blaine wouldn't let Kurt go further than a foot away after that, and Sebastian kept smirking and giving a thumbs-up as if to say, “You're welcome.” Judging by the way Blaine kept putting a hand to Kurt's back and Sebastian kept grinning hard at that, Kurt realized this was what Sebastian had been aiming for the entire time.

“He's not so bad,” Kurt remarked out of nowhere as he watched Blaine cut in a room, using a paintbrush to paint the corner of a room.

“Sebastian?” Blaine's face grew dark. “I thought you didn't like him.”

“I never said that. He just can't keep his hands to himself.”

“He better learn how to.”

“You know that I only have eyes for you, right?”

“I would hope so,” Blaine said with finality, his shoulders sagging as Kurt snuggled into his side, “because I only have eyes for you too.”

“Look at them, they're so sweet,” Quinn commented to Sebastian. “Nauseatingly sweet, but still.”

“They probably eat pure sugar and honey for breakfast, lunch, and dinner,” Sebastian scoffed, still in his corner.

“Or maybe they just eat—”

“Quinn,” Sebastian declared, “I am proud to say that I've had a positively dirty influence on you.”

“Why am I the only straight person here?” Quinn deadpanned.

It was the eighteen-year-old Kurt Hummel who left Ohio, but it was the nineteen-year-old who finally found himself in California, basking in the endless sunny days and big city atmosphere. A year across America had taken its toll on Kurt (and his bank account) and he was quite literally living from hand-to-mouth, although he found he didn't mind the lifestyle so much. Days of working part-time jobs in small towns and nights of sleeping in cheap motels or in his own car were humbling, even startling, experiences that he never thought he would have, and yet here he was.

Aunt Laurel occasionally helped out with the money situation. Her interference was minimal, as per his request when he had called from the very beginning, and every now and then he would let her know where he was temporarily staying.

But she still wanted him to come back.

“You deferred for a year,” she said during their last phone call, “and a year's nearly up.”

Kurt didn't want to go back and start as a nineteen-year-old freshman, a year older than most of his classmates. He wasn't even sure if he was going back to Ohio after all; his plan had always been to leave sooner or later.

“It's college,” Laurel insisted, “you know how important it is. And I'm in charge of your dad's finances now and you can still go if you take out a loan.”

“I'll think about it,” came the evasive answer.

He liked to think he had developed complete independence. He didn't have a college degree, a full-time job, or the designer wardrobe he once dreamed of not too long ago, but it was not such a bad life. He stayed in a cramped and unhygienic apartment that he shared with a young woman who was reassured by his blatant sexuality and exemplary taste in clothes. Sunshine Corazon was a soft-spoken and petite woman, a sophomore studying theatre at UCLA who had an extremely powerful voice despite her short stature. He worked as a cashier at a little gift shop, but she vouched for him so that he got a second job at Riley's Roast.

Kurt wasn't dissatisfied with this kind of life. (That's what he told himself at night.) He might even settle down in Los Angeles. (Because otherwise he'd have to go back.)

It was late at night (or had it been early in the morning?) when he persuaded Sunshine to take a break from her studies and to indulge in warm milk together. She could see that he wanted to talk and waited patiently for him to find his voice, though it took quite a few minutes of stilted dialogue such as “This is good milk” and “I know.”

“I think,” he said slowly, his vision blurred by sleepiness and meditation, “that I don't really have a place to go back to.”

“So basically you ran away from home.”

“No, no. 'Home' implies that I have someplace to go back to. I just said I didn't.”

“Then where did you come from?”

“From my mother's womb!” he slurred, looking bleary and slightly punch-drunk.

“I think you should go back to bed.” Sunshine set down her mug and reached out, catching Kurt by the shoulders as he swayed. He was so light, she mused, and she managed to bring him back to his feet and led him to his room, secretly wondering if he'd put alcohol in his milk. Meanwhile, he mumbled nonsensical sentences such as “I wanted to say to her, 'So if you're a Berry, does that mean you're fruity?' Ha, ha, ha!” Finally, his thin body was sprawled over the bed and he buried his face in the pillow, already drifting away.

Though he was barely conscious, she sat by him and petted his head. “Cheer up,” she said in her slight but endearing accent. “You're here for a reason. Don't think too hard about it now. Sweet dreams.” She turned off the lights and left Kurt to his dreams.

The next morning, he was awkward around Sunshine, offering to take care of the breakfast dishes before she went to her 10 o'clock class, and once she was gone, he busied himself with a little cleaning before swiftly deciding to take a walk.

He spent a good chunk of the past year living out of his car because money often went to more urgent and immediate matters such as food and gas, and that meant he couldn't exactly splurge on expensive and impractical clothing. Oddly enough, he sprouted a few more inches on the road despite his meager diet of sandwiches and salads, and most of the clothes he brought from Ohio didn't fit as well. Kurt's typical daily outfit consisted of well-worn jeans or slacks, tennis shoes for easy walking, and a plain shirt he didn't mind getting dirty. He threw on a jacket or sweater when it got cold, sometimes even pulling out the same pair of boots he'd worn to his father's funeral.

How far I've fallen, he thought sardonically.

But he had to remember that he chose this road. There was no point in complaining when he still had the option of going to Aunt Laurel, loath as he was to acknowledge that option.

If only he could be doing something he loved. Burt had been a simple man, interested in cars and good with his hands, so naturally he became a mechanic. What about Kurt? He supposed he could sing at a restaurant or bar, maybe help stitch costumes for the local elementary school plays. It seemed paltry in comparison to Broadway, but he had to grasp what straws he had.

He was certain that no restaurant or bar would keep him as a singer for long. Too long had he endured the insults directed at his voice and now he half-believed that his voice would ultimately rub people the wrong way, even if Mercedes had complimented it more than once.

Also, he didn't like kids.

Looking down at his shirt, he grimaced. He ought to find a laundromat; he'd neglected to ask Sunshine, but he didn't think it would be too hard. Turning on his heel, he began to trudge back, hoping that he had enough quarters for the washer and the dryer.

As he passed by a boutique shop, he hesitated at the clothes in display. I could use new jeans, he mulled over in his mind, looking balefully down at his own jeans that were beginning to appear ragged. He didn't have much money to spare (he never had much money anymore, come to think of it), but a new pair would last for the rest of the year.

Inside the store were sleek coats that he used to wear during the winter (now he layered his shirts and zipped up his thin jacket, huddled under a blanket he stashed in his Navigator). He felt soft cardigans in cream, gray, and black, frowning at the buttons that hadn't been sewn on very well.

Finally, he purchased a pair of bootcut jeans at a reasonable price. They were from the women's section, but the cashier barely blinked. I love LA.

“So where do you get most of the clothing here?” Kurt asked, still wincing at a vest he'd seen with far too many loose threads.

The cashier, a bored-looking young girl, shrugged. “I dunno. I heard the owner makes this stuff herself.”

“Really?”

“Well, she gets the clothes and everything from other stores, yeah? Then she mends them or gives them a new design, though if you ask me, she's horrible at it.”

“It's a good idea.”

“Yeah, sure. I wouldn't go near the vests, though, they tend to fall apart.”

“Thank you for the fair warning,” Kurt answered, keeping the sarcasm out of his words, but before he left, his gaze swept through the boutique one last time. The clothes were subpar and that led to a certain cheapness. But if the clothes were well-made—er, well-designed—and still sold at a cheap price?

He went home, wondering if he should take a course in entrepreneurship.

“Don't you think it's a little dark?”

“That's the point, Blaine.”

“No, I get the point. The point I'm trying to make is...isn't it a little weird to have a royal blue ceiling? It catches a lot of attention and most people don't want to pay attention to the ceiling.”

“Explain the hundreds of tourists who visit the Sistine Chapel every year.”

“I should know better by now than to argue with you.”

“Besides, it's not just a solid royal blue ceiling. There are stars. Not in constellations because my ceiling isn't as big as the Sistine Chapel, but better than the hearts Quinn was thinking about at first. Or Sebastian's rainbows.”

“He's just teasing you. I'm a little sad you didn't keep the first rainbow in your room.”

“Are you saying I should have kept a reminder of your ex-boyfriend in my personal bedroom where I'm going to see it every day?”

“We weren't boyfriends!”

“Okay, your previous friend with benefits. How about that?”

“I...see what you mean.”

“There's no need to be jealous, Blaine. I can tell Sebastian isn't seriously flirting with me, and he'll have to try a lot harder than a slap on the rear end.”

“But what if he starts seriously flirting?”

“So now we're exploring hypothetical situations. How about you hypothetically go to bed with me?”

“We're on your bed right now.”

“Oh, good.”

“It's really not fair how you can distract me—mmph.”

Text to Kurt 2:12 PM

did you see the article?

Text to Blaine 2:13 PM

What article?

Text to Kurt 2:13 PM

its about rachel

Text to Kurt 2:14 PM

shes starring in a new bdwy musical this dec

Kurt stared down at his phone, then at the clothes he was sorting in the back of Timeless, and then back at the phone. Heaving a sigh, he dropped a pair of leggings back onto his lap and called Blaine. His boyfriend picked up right away and Kurt went straight to business. “To clarify your last text, Rachel Berry is going to be in an original Broadway musical starting in December.”

“That's what her Wikipedia page says.”

“You stalk Rachel Berry on Wikipedia?”

“Also you can buy tickets on Broadway.com and I stalk that site too. I have an invested interest, okay?”

“Why on earth would you have an invested interest in Rachel Berry?”

“Because you do.”

“I didn't know about her starring role in this musical, so clearly I'm not as invested as you think I am. And tickets? Blaine, I'm not going to New York, the city of my past dreams, to see Rachel Berry screech her heart out to her adoring audience.”

“I was just going to suggest—”

“If you have any common sense at all,” Kurt said sharply, “you won't try to talk to me about this again.” He hung up and sat on the ground, phone clutched in his hand, taking deep breaths despite his racing mind. There was that spark of anger because he wasn't quite over New York and Broadway yet, and he wasn't going to get over his dreams if Blaine kept on shoving Rachel Berry into his face. Angry as he was, he was tempted to go on the Internet on his phone and look up more details about the show.

He lasted until he got off from work and then he sped over to his home, turned on his laptop, and spent the next half hour perusing various sources and sites. The show was called Belladonna and followed the lives of two schoolmates, Bella and Donna, as they competed in school and later went on to become waitresses in the same restaurant at their hometown, both of them saving up money and waiting to turn into big stars.

Bella would eventually run off to a big city and find her chance, starting out in small roles before people began to see her talent. Donna, on the other hand, remained chained to her hometown via a controlling father and freeloading boyfriend.

By the time Donna's father died and her boyfriend finally dumped her, Bella had already become one of the most well-known movie stars of her time. Donna followed her progress bitterly, her resources drained by various unfortunate events, and she began to lose hope.

That was the first act and of course Rachel would be playing Bella.

Without reading any further, Kurt called Blaine again. “I'm sorry. For being bitchy and hanging up on you and generally being defensive.”

“It happens to the best of us,” Blaine said, his tone forgiving. “It's okay, Kurt. I shouldn't have brought it up.”

“She plays Bella. Of course she's going to play Bella. She is Bella.”

“Doesn't that make you Donna?”

“Yes! And I don't want to be Donna except I am. It sucks being Donna.”

“In the beginning, yeah, but—Kurt, did you read the second act?”

“No. Should I?”

“I think you should.”

“Okay. I'll, um, I'll call you later.”

“Okay. And Kurt, calm down. It's nothing bad, I promise.”

Rejuvenated, Kurt turned back to his laptop and scrolled down.

The second act started off with Donna at the market, downcast because the restaurant she worked at was closing. Through a chance of fate, she ran into Bella who was keeping a low profile as she visited family. It became apparent that Bella was unhappy despite her fame, confiding in Donna and mentioning how being a movie star was like being surrounded by sharks; fearing new talent, putting on a false front for directors, and never spending enough time with friends and lovers. Despite her warnings, she still offered to help Donna start a new career in acting. Obviously Donna decided to take the offer.

There were other conflicts sprinkled in the second act as Donna slowly became more and more successful and Bella began to fear Donna's talent as well. There were fights, crying, enraged singing, and even a poor handsome actor caught between Bella and Donna (in the end, everyone was single). The climax of the show came when Bella and Donna, forced to act together in a high-budget movie, blew up at each other and were promptly replaced by lesser actresses.

The consequences of their actions finally caught up, they admitted their envy and regret to each other and became friends as they should have been all along, and they led the others in one last musical number before parading toward a sunset.

Okay, Kurt made up the last bit. It didn't change the fact that Belladonna was an ultimately predictable show, though that wouldn't matter as long as there was superb acting, vocals, and enough heart-wrenching moments to move the most apathetic audience. He immediately called Blaine again and expressed all of his thoughts as he stared at a picture of a smiling Rachel Berry, wearing a dress probably worth a month of his income.

“It's typical,” he said disappointedly to Blaine. “Two girls who more or less spit into each other's faces until they become best friends forever. It's not like Rachel and me at all.”

“Well, I doubt that you and Rachel would become movie stars who get on each other's nerves,” Blaine agreed amicably, “but I just wanted you to see that there are different endings. You saw yourself in Donna in the first act, right?”

“Are you my psychologist? I'm not about to relate to fictional characters—”

“So that explains why you're obsessed with RENT and Wicked. Can't be because of the characters.”

“It's different.”

“It's not even about the characters, Kurt,” Blaine explained patiently. “I think you want to see her.”

“Rachel Berry? Please, I'd be perfectly happy if I never saw her again. At least she graduated from the horrific knee socks she used to wear.”

“Why are you so afraid of seeing her in a show?”

“I—I don't have the money and I can't up and leave Timeless and—”

“Kurt, you spent over two hundred dollars on clothes when we went shopping the other day.”

“Sometimes I like to splurge a bit on clothes. This is different. There's still flying or driving over to New York, staying at a hotel, paying for food.”

“I could chip in.”

“Blaine, no. I don't know how much you make as a pet store employee and I mean this in the least offensive manner possible, but I doubt it's enough to cover all of the costs this trip will entail.”

“Well,” Blaine began uncertainly, “I forgot to mention that my paternal grandfather left me a chunk of inheritance money when he passed away.”

“What?”

“It's not a fortune or anything, but it's enough to let me live comfortably for another decade.”

“And you want to spend this inheritance money on a trip to New York with me?”

“I can't think of a better way to spend it.”

“Okay, fine, so money isn't going to be an issue. But I'm still the owner of Timeless and I've taken too many days off of work. I can't just leave without closing the store or leaving someone in charge, and there's no one that I trust to take charge.”

“I could ask Quinn for you. This may be a stretch and I know you two aren't really best friends, but she just quit Tattoo for You because she said that too many biker dudes hit on her. Believe it or not, she used to manage a thrift store and she has a pretty good eye for products like clothes.”

“I don't know...”

“You could train her and everything before you go. It's not like you're leaving for a year, Kurt.”

“There's still my cat.”

“Quinn could take care of her too. She likes cats.”

“You really thought this through.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“I'll think about it, okay?”

Kurt thought about it.

He thought about it for the entirety of November. Blaine had already bought the tickets, insisting that he could sell them online at the last minute if Kurt really and truly didn't want to go. Blaine reserved a room at a hotel, waving off Kurt's attempt to pay him back because “I'm not going to take your money until you make a decision.” Blaine even brought Quinn over, advising that Kurt teach her the basic rundown of the store because Blaine may not have been a Boy Scout, but he got the “being prepared” lesson down pat.

Conflicted as he was, he still sought advice from his peers, though it only made him even more confused.

Mercedes: “Why on earth not?”

Sebastian: “You'd be stupid not to take this chance.”

Sugar: “New York?! Oh my god, oh my god, it's so pretty, you have to go!”

Lauren: “Can I have a raise?”

Quinn: “I thought you'd want to be stuck with Blaine for a few days.”

Blaine: “It's your decision, but I really hope you'll go.”

Throughout November, he didn't dream of Rachel Berry. He thought it would have helped maybe, to have a more tangible form of her presence to convince him (and wasn't that sad, that he would consider a dream version of Rachel Berry to be more tangible than the announcement of her Broadway role?), but she never appeared again. Perhaps it was a way of nudging him to make his own choice—Ask me that in person—but he was afraid of exactly that.

He didn't have his father's death to use as an excuse. It was an event long past, an event he'd come to accept, but Rachel Berry was one constant ache that never went away because what if? What if they had been friends from the start? What if he had swallowed back some of his fear, some of his pride, and just talked to her? What if he had joined glee club or pushed harder to go to New York? What if he had stayed and studied at Ohio State University, supported by his Aunt Laurel? What if he hadn't run away?

But it stopped being about hypothetical situations a long time ago. Kurt was too old to try again and too young to stay. He found some measure of happiness where he was and who he was with, happiness that wouldn't be taken away so easily, but there were still unfulfilled desires leftover from his youth.

What are you afraid of?

Because he and Rachel might have been best friends in high school. They might have even kept in touch during college. But now their paths were so sharply diverged and Kurt imagined an immense expanse between between the two of them. He could reach out, of course he could reach out, but it wouldn't be the same as it would have been back in high school.

Because it stopped being about hypothetical situations a long time ago, but Kurt couldn't let go of the idea that it might have been, could have been, should have been.

Rachel Berry was a star now and he was only one more nameless person in a sea of human beings.

“Does it matter, though?” Blaine asked, hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat. There was a slightly chilly air although Kurt bet it would warm up soon enough. It was Los Angeles and it rarely stayed cold for long.

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe you won't be a famous Broadway star like Rachel, but is that so bad? Lauren and Sugar look up to you.”

“Because I'm a direct factor in whether or not their salaries go up.”

“Quinn and Sebastian know you.”

“I'm still not sure if that's a blessing or a curse. I think I'm going to go with curse.”

“I know you. Isn't that enough? Because, you know, it's the little people who keep everyone else going. We're the ones who feed Rachel Berry, make her clothes, help her put her makeup on, even come up with the scripts that she refers to at the end of the day.”

Kurt looked at Blaine's Mercedes-Benz. Inside were a handful of suitcases and bags. He could see a map on the driver's seat and fuzzy dice hanging from the rear-view mirror. He knew Blaine's car intimately enough that he was aware of a stack of CDs in one of the compartments, ranging from Phantom of the Opera to Katy Perry.

He also knew that if he decided to turn back at the last minute, Blaine would follow him without a word of complaint.

“It's not about Broadway anymore,” Kurt said finally. “I just want to see her again with my own eyes.”

“Why?” Blaine probed gently.

“To see if she's happy. Like I am.”

“You should ask her.”

Kurt tossed his head back and laughed because if two people were giving him the same advice, then he had the sense to take it. “All right, let's go. Kurt Hummel waits for no one, least of all Rachel Berry! I'm not going to run away anymore.”

Blaine pulled out a hand to run it down Kurt's back. “You sure?” he asked, mouth curved in a soft smile.

“I'm sure.”

And he was sure, surer than he had ever been before in his life.

My name is Kurt Hummel. I am twenty-four years old. I lost my mom when I was eight and my dad when I was eighteen. I don't know what the future holds for me, but the same can be said of anyone. What I do know is that I have a cat, a home, my own store, and a graffiti artist boyfriend, and these are things I want to keep.

Because I love them and I'm happy. So, so happy.