Opening Night

"Here," Kut geeted as he walked through the large office doors, placing the air-sealed plastic bag on Heather's desk.

"What the Hell is this, Kurt?" She eyed him wearily, picking up the bag and examining it critically.

"Um, finished designs?" Kurt said hopefully, plopping down tiredly into one of the chairs in the corner.

"Kurt, this is nowhere near finished." She argued as she flopped the bag on her desk.

"It's perfectly finished," He answered, rolling his eyes.

"The Opening Ceremony is tonight, for Christ's sake!" She complained, sighing loudly as she took off her brown eyeglasses. She gave him a cold stare as she leaned back in her desk chair. "You're a professional, perhaps even one of the best in the fashion industry, and all you can give me is this crap?" 

"Listen, calm down. There's what, like 5 people on the American teams? Relax and enjoy yourself here. It's quite lovely." He said, snapping his fingers demandingly as Heather's assistant droned in machincally.

"Yes, Mister Hummel?" She asked innocently, since she was one of the brand new interns on the job.

"Large iced coffee. Caramel, please." He ordered and immediately waved her off to get his drink.

Heather shot him a death glare again, standing up angrily. "No, Kurt, there are like fifty! You realize you designed for every swimming competitor, correct? And there's heaps of other things you just set in stone! The extra suits in case of emergency, merchandise, and numerous other things!" She explained in a furious rage. "What has gotten into you, Kurt? Do you think this is some sort of joke?" 

"I don-" Kurt started.

"Oh, right. Don't answer that. You're too busy sleeping with the swimmers," She deadpanned, interupting his argument.

Kurt inhaled, a poison look etching onto his face. He tilted his head as he sat up straighter in his chair, refusing to let that shot get to his heart. "Heather. Take a breather, it's just the olympics. Them assholes who run this thing don't even pay attention to the fabrics on their athletes bodies, just the speed they swim and the medal they wear around their necks." He pointed out, irritatingly awaiting his long desired drink.

"Them assholes are the ones signing your paycheck." She snarled, slamming her macbook shut.

"And I'm the one signing yours." Kurt shot back, flaming with fury himself. He stood up and walked out straight out of the room, leaving a breathless and angered Heather behind without another word.

"What the Hell is this, Kurt?" Blaine asked, his eyes filling with tears as he read the article. The front page was hammered with slurs toward Blaine, random townspeople declaring that they didn't want any "Homosexual meetings" occuring during the Games when he was supposed to be practicing. They were essentially demanding that Blaine be disqualified for completely ridiculous reasons, similar to that he didn't even care about his sport due to his "lack of focus". Blaine Anderson was accustomed to homophobic attitudes, and learned to skip around them, not letting them damage his personality or courage. However, when they tried to shimmy him out of his life because he was seen kissing a male it was an entire different story.

"I-I don't even know," Kurt sighed, leaning back on the couch. He had been sitting here for a few minutes, figuring that Blaine would have already been here and prepared for the party. When he arrived at the doorstep to Blaine's hotel room, stacks of newspapers and magazines were tied together on the floor. Kurt picked them up curiously, immediately digging in to find the scoop on Blaine. When he had found it, he himself was shocked beyond recognition. In fact, he was even more offended and annoyed than he had been in his entire life. 

"They don't want me to swim..." Blaine breathed, choking out a tiny sob. Even though Blaine wasn't as full on head-athlete as much as the other competitors, it was still a passion for Blaine. He had grown up believing in this nature, using this as his weapon and his speciality. Blaine's talent had paved his way for his career and now his only way of setting himself free from this lifestyle was being threatened. Blaine Anderson had made a personal goal to obtain the Gold Medal to prove his efforts and then retire in peace, an agreement he had made between his entire family. 

"I know, hun." Kurt whispered, wrapping his arms tightly around Blaine's torso, tugging him closer to his chest. Blaine continued to cry like a baby, his soft side hitting Kurt a little hard. But Kurt understood his struggle and pain right now, so he obliged to holding him. "We need to go soon though, dear."

"I know," Blaine whispered, sitting up and reaching for the soft tissue Kurt had handed to him. "I'm sorry, it's just, they, Kurt they want me gone because of who I am," He explained sadly, a puppy dog frown on his face as he wiped away his dripping tears.

"I understand. Trust me, I've been there. But, let's just forget about it for now, okay? They can't damage us or what we have, I promise it." Kurt explained, smiling at Blaine for comfort. He can't believe that he just told Blaine that they definitely were a thing now despite the conflict from the haters.

"I trust you..." Blaine swore, standing up and staring down at Kurt. "I'm going to um, go get dressed." 

Kurt nodded, and Blaine walked away towards his bedroom. Kurt got up and strode to his own bag, pulling out his ironed suit that was neatly folded. He made his way for Blaine's bathroom, stripping himself quickly and placing his black Armani suit on his body. Studying himself in the mirror, Kurt decided he looked stunning enough to attend the luxury party. He slid his hands down his slightly silky suit, and opened the door. When he walked into the lounge, Blaine was patiently awaiting on his couch. Blaine noticed him as soon as the floor creaked, so he turned around. Blaine's jaw opened slightly in awe, and a sparkle fired in his irises.

"You look great." Blaine swallowed, standing up. 

"Thank you, you look quite dapper yourself." Kurt replied, taking Blaine's outstretched hand and intertwining his fingers with Blaine's. Yet again, their fingers fit perfectly smooth against each other.

Blaine was wearing a dark brown suit, matching his light hazel eyes, with a white bowtie draped on his neck. He looked extremely nerdy, a look that Blaine wore well, and Kurt couldn't help but adore his outfit. 

Blaine walked them out to the black limo that was awaiting outside, and they gathered in the darkened backseats quietly. As soon as they were settled in, the driver took off to take them to the most luxiorious hotel in all of London, the Lanesborough. Upon request, the hotel had reserved a large ballroom that was for every competitor and other exclusive staff member in the Olympics that had been invited. The festivities would include performances, speeches, other forms of entertainment, and delicious wines and other tasty drinks with desserts. The gathering all seemed a bit overwhelming and too formal for Blaine.

Kurt, however, was used to this rich atmosphere. The entire evening would be less awkward for him because of his experience. On the other hand, it would be severely strange because Blaine would be with him as a date. 

"Oh shit!" Kurt gasped, snapping his head around to look at Blaine.

Blaine eyed him back curiously, a nervous look on his face now. "What? What's wrong?"

"Is it really a good idea to um...go here?" Kurt questioned, taking a sip of the complimentary water in the refridgerator anxiously.

"Why not?" Blaine asked, shifting uncomfortably in his soft leather seat. 

"Well, with the news and whatnot, don't you think people might judge us here? Or worse, beat us up?" Kurt bit his lip, staring out the window as the limo came to a slow stop.

"I doubt it. Plus, we were invited. So we should go to you know, not be rude?" Blaine said, unbuckling his seat belt and straightening his suite.

"We're here, sir." Blaine's driver announced, lowering the shade that previously seperated them. "Are you two ready to get out?"

"Yeah, just give us a moment." Blaine said, nodding to his driver, Louis.

"As you wish, sir." Louis got out of the car, and went to gather a few bodyguards. Paparazzi swarmed the enterance, cameras were flashing rapidly outside.

"We'll be fine. If it gets too stressful, we'll leave. Okay?" Blaine prompted, already sliding over to exit out of the car.

"Right." Kurt confirmed, slowly unbuckling his belt as well and also straightening his silk suit. "Ready."

Blaine pressed the tiny red buzzer on the door, signalling to Louis that the door could be opened. Louis quickly came to open the backdoor, letting the two body guards surround them. They both stepped out of the car, Kurt getting out first and waiting with Blaine. Their hands were still clenched together, a big "Fuck you!" to the tabloids. They smiled to the crowd of photographers as they walked toward the doors. 

The two very large bodyguards followed them right away, one of them holding the door open right in front of them. Blaine turned to Kurt for confirmation to go inside, and he nodded shyly.

Doors pushed open, the two men walked nervously into the large ballroom. They were dressed properly for the occassion, and they blended together perfectly. Only a few photographers and news cameras were allowed in the ballroom, so they turned quickly to the couple when they walked in. The bodyguards were still standing quietly behind the two, protecting them from any harm that could come their way. 

"Let's get drinks?" Blaine wondered, walking toward one of the ladies who were prancing around with champagne glasses.

Kurt followed behind him, picking up one of the glasses after Blaine as the woman passed. They saw a table in the back marked with their names, luckily they were placed together, and they made their way toward the table. The elegant surface already had food placed upon it, trays still left unopened. There was only a few people at the table, some that Kurt hardly recognized. Two of the gentleman who were speaking at the table Kut knew right away, the famous fashion designer Marc Jacobs and the current manager of the priceless Louis Vuitton deisgn company who had participated in sponsoring and other aspects of the Games.

On the other side of the table was the athletes, fellow swimmers that Blaine barely knew. The only swimmer Blaine had come to terms with was Conner Jaeger, the competitor that lost to Blaine in the trials. He was swimming in other events, and Blaine and him had socialized quite a bit in their free time in the Aquatics Centre. He was also slightly acquainted with Michael Phelps, who was actually sort of pissy in person, but who could be a decent guy at times.

Kurt and Blaine sat down at the far end of the table, earning greetings from various people placed around the large, rectangular table. Two servants quickly walked over, opening up their trays to reveal a delicious type of...pie? Neither of the gentleman were completely sure, but it tasted delicious anyway.

The two seemed to be enjoying their night at the event so far, sticking together as much as possible. They were only approached once or twice by news people, who were as respectful as possible. Blaine usually answered for the both of them because he could keep his calm better. Blaine politely responded to the questions, but tried to get them to depart as quickly as he could.

A few photographers had strutted over, and Kurt reluctantly agreed to allow them to snap a couple of photos. After they were done, they two listened intently to the speeches and wonderful performances. 

It was around midnight when disaster stuck.

Blaine was the first to notice the two brawny security guards lurking near them, trying to steathily avoid them but kept whispering into their headsets and pointing at the two. 

It caused him to become uncomfortable, and he tried to keep as relaxed as possible to not bother Kurt. Since right now, they had been having a decent night and he didn't want to ruin Kurt's content mood.

Blaine knew he couldn't keep it a secret much longer when the two men started to walk toward them, a cold, hard and robotic look on their faces.

"Kurt." Blaine nudged his side quietly as he whispered in his ear.

"Yeah," Kurt asked distractedly, hypnotized by the soundings of one of the performers.

"I think we should go..." Blaine said, pushing his chair away from the table.

"What? Why-" Kurt started, curiously looking around them.

"Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson." One of the men interrupted rudely, towering over the sitting men. Blaine pushed his chair back toward the table, and swallowed shakingly.

"That would be us. How can I help you two gentlemen?" Kurt smiled, looking up at them unphased.

"We have recieved a few complaints about your prescence." The other man declared, keeping a neutral look on his face.

"How unfortunate," Kurt deadpanned. "Now if you'd excuse me, I was watching something." He turned back toward the stage, trying again to listen to the music.

"I'm going to have to ask you two men to leave, now." He said more sternly, huddling around the table.

Everyone that was currently seated stared toward the group, curiously looking at them. A few of the people gasped, angry to be disrupted from the performance. Suddenly, the entire ballroom was quiet and focused on the fiasco at their table.

"I don't think that would be necessary." Blaine argued, looking up at the security men.

"I don't think that you have the right to speak to me that way." The taller man snarled with his thick British accent, picking up Blaine by his expensive suit and tugging him out of the chair. Blaine didn't even say anything offensive, he had been mantaining a calm attitude toward the men until now. Nobody in the entire world had the ability nor privilege to judge or critiscize Blaine on his actions and lifestyle choices. No-one except Blaine himself.

"What do you think you're doing!?" Blaine shouted angrily, watching as Kurt was picked up in the same exact way by the other frightening man.

Wide eyes stared at the fighting group from around the entire room offended, a few others stepped in to attempt at Kurt and Blaine's assitance. It seemed that they also thought this was an outrage, but they soon lost the chance at helping them up. Because other security guards pushed them back away from the table and from the large conflict resting in the room, as cameras flashed from various points in the area. The Staff managed to hide in the back, as the game-masters stared appalled from the front table.

"Get those scum out of here!" Screeched one of the older men at the head table with a scornful and disgusted look.

"We'll leave, just let go of my expensive suit, you rats!" Kurt yelled, letting himself be dropped. "What the Hell is wrong with you people!?" He sighed, kicking over his chair that was assigned to him.

"You're asking the wrong audience!" Another game master boomed, this time a female. 

"This is ridiculous. I'm a CELEBRITY. If you think you're getting out of this hands-free, you have a whole different thing coming!" Kurt screeched at the top of his lungs, storming out of the ballroom angrily.

Blaine looked around, also infuriated, and followed suit behind Kurt. Cameras whipped him in the face, asking him various questions. Kurt was yelling at one of the Valet men, ordering for his limo.

Blaine snapped his fingers at the lead valet men, who called for his limo to be driven up at the carpet.

"Kurt!" Blaine yelled, searching down the carpet toward the limo.

Dozens of reporters and various other peoplem digging for any scoop of information they could muster, called their names to try to grab their attention, while Blaine made a mad-dash to his limo. When he caught up to Kurt, he quickly grabbed his arm and reassuredly pushed him into the sleek, black limo. It was almost like a safe-haven for them, pushed away from the pressurizing interviewers and hateful people they once knew as friends-or people they simply respected.

Louis shut the doors tight, ignoring the rush of crazy people, and went to start the vehicle.

Blaine rose the black shade, seperating them into privacy. "Are you alright?"

"No, I'm not alright!" Kurt exclaimed, tilting his head back and letting out a loud sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose, willing himself to calm down. "Those maniacs kicked us out for no logical reason! AND THEY DAMAGED MY SUIT!" He yelled, furiously attempting to fix the small tear in his suit.

Blaine closed his eyes and leaned his head against the cool glass of the tinted window. "I know they did, but there's nothing we can do about it now."

"You think that this won't spread around right away? Soon enough, everybody will know. And that just makes your sports case worse. Clearly, they're really serious about wanting you out of the Games." Kurt said. 

"I guess so. But it's not like they can actually kick me out,  that's unfair beyond all recognition." Blaine chuckled, not sure if he even completely convinced himself. 

"This is absolutely ridiculous." Kurt breathed, feeling slightly more relaxed when Blaine's tight, bronze arms encircled his waist.

"It'll be okay, just try to calm down." Blaine promised, kissing the top of his forehead. "Plus, if you don't have the fashion industry," Blaine started, pressing another kiss to Kurt's gentle temple. "You'll always have me."

"Wait, I could lose my business!?" Kurt gasped jokingly, smiling at the fondness of the chaste kisses, and the familiarity of Blaine's grasp. He could definitely get used to this, even if it meant losing everything that surrounded him with happiness. That is, risking everything else that made him ecstatic just so he could be with Blaine Anderson. Who in return, was the man of his dreams he'd been waiting for for an enternity and distracted him from his famous-style nightmare.