Kurt Hummel made it through most of his senior year by focusing on the stars in his eyes, letting them over-shadow the hell of everything around him. It helped, of course, that most members of New Directions had finally begun to see him as an equal after four years of fair-weather friendships; ones that were only acknowledged when the other party had something to gain. He and Mercedes had finally settled back into being the best friends they were always meant to be, Santana stopped calling him ‘lady’ (mostly) and Finn was the brother that he had always wished to have.

The change that surprised him the most, however, was the shifting dynamic between himself and one Miss Rachel Berry: the jewish power-diva of McKinley High. Once the two of them stopped the cut-throat competitions for solos, they discovered just how alike they seemed to be. The two of them started spending more and more time together during the summer after their junior year until finally they ended up in Mrs. Pillsbury’s office on the first day of next school year, looking at potential schools to apply to. In New York City.

___

To say that Burt was okay with the idea of his only son moving thousands of miles away for college would be a gross exaggeration of the truth; the fact is that Burt would really like it if he could keep Kurt safe and in his home for as long as reasonably possible (30 seems like a great age to head out on your own, right?). But ever since his son was old enough to sing Burt had known where his future was headed. The boy had a voice that was meant to carry him across the world, leaving adoring fans in his wake and out of all the hardships that Burt had watched his son overcome, he was at least grateful that Kurt had never lost his voice.

So when Kurt shows up after school with a folder full of college pamphlets and Rachel Berry in tow (sending Finn scurrying out of the kitchen, bologna sandwich half-made and abandoned on the counter) the only thing about it that surprises Burt is the fact that Mercedes isn’t with them. She was the best friend his son had if their nightly phone calls and near-constant text messaging were any indication, and Burt couldn’t imagine the two of them living so far apart for such an extended period of time.

“Mr. Hummel, it’s lovely to see you again,” Rachel says, reaching her hand out for Burt to shake. The older man simply adjusts his baseball cap and stares at her expectantly. Rachel’s smile slips down a few watts, but her brisk attitude never falters as she grabs the folder out of Kurt’s hands and presents it to Burt with a flourish.

“Kurt and I have been looking through brochures for the perfect performing arts school located in the city of choice for talents such as ourselves: New York.” This time she tosses the smile over her shoulder to Kurt, who picks up without missing a beat.

“Dad, I know I was talking about Julliard and its plethora of funding options, but this particular college,” Kurt says, pointing at the pamphlet on the very top of the stack, “offers something that Julliard doesn’t.”

Burt eyes the brochure carefully, pulling it out of the flimsy paper sleeve and opening it up to inspect it further. The kids pictured inside the booklet look like Kurt: unique and happy and full to bursting with creativity. Without even glancing at the other options it’s this school, The New York Academy of Dramatic Arts, is Burt’s undeniable favorite.

“This college,” Kurt continues, “has a musical theater program that’s just waiting to add two new names to its roster.”

The two teenagers continue trying to convince Burt that this college is the perfect choice, and Burt doesn’t let on that he’s already decided he agrees.

___

It’s no surprise to anyone that Kurt gets called in for an audition; so when his acceptance letter for the coveted spot in the NYADA freshman class of 2012 arrives, New Directions have already planned a congratulatory party for Kurt and Rachel (who was accepted as well, of course). Kurt sits on a ratty old couch in Rachel’s basement and watches his friends fall over all around him, singing and laughing too-loud for the tall, echoing room. The drink in his hand is more ice than alcohol, but each sip still warms him all over; his future roommate is stumbling around the make-shift stage, belting out another 80’s power ballad and pumping her fist in the air. The future is a certain, tangible thing and for the first time in his life he’s almost close enough to reach out and touch it, pull it close. He sends a makeshift prayer, then, to whoever might be listening for things to please always be this safe.

Everyone falls asleep in stages, curled around each other on the floor and Kurt can feel the world shifting around him, more pronounced than the usual haziness of being drunk. He feels shaken, a worried itch under his skin, and falls asleep with a steady mantra of nothing gold can stay running on a loop around his head.

___

Kurt wakes up like the slow drop of molasses from a spoon, slowing feeling the warmth of sunlight across his face.

“Kurt? Bro, come on, you need to get up.” Finn is shaking Kurt’s shoulder lightly, but there’s a tinny hint of panic to his voice and Kurt is sitting up in an instant. The pounding in his head sends the room spinning but he ignores it, focusing in on Finn’s worried face.

“God, Kurt, mom just called and it’s, god, it’s bad,” his stepbrother rushes out, voice shaking. Kurt squints a little and oh, there are tears running down Finn’s face, dripping down onto his shirt. The room is empty, save the two of them, and everything stinks of booze and the morning after.

“Finn,” Kurt croaks, “what’s bad?” Part of him knows the answer already but his fuzzy brain isn’t letting him focus too well on anything.

“Burt, god, Kurt, he had another heart attack this morning and everyone is upstairs eating some weird oatmeal Rachel’s dad made,” Finn’s voice breaks on oatmeal, of all words and he looks terrified as he continues, “I haven’t told them yet, Kurt, I came right downstairs when my phone rang and I don’t know what to do.”

The part of Kurt that had been holding onto the hope that Finn would say absolutely anything else turns cold and falls down around his ribs, he can hear it rattle against them. Finn won’t stop crying and Kurt pulls himself up, slowly. He looks around the room, full of evidence from the night before. Kurt had been happy, before. Just hours ago he had everything he could ever want and now the only thing he can think of is how disappointed his dad would be to see him walk into his hospital room reeking of booze.

“We’re going to go home,” Kurt says, looking at the wall instead of his stepbrother, “so we can shower. We’ll tell everyone else that you feel sick so they won’t ask any questions, and we are not telling any of them the truth until I say so.”

Finn flinches at Kurt’s monotone, but nods quietly. Kurt glances over at Finn and sees fresh tears caught in his eyelashes and he doesn’t feel a damn thing.

Nothing gold can stay.

___

The hospital smells too clean and Kurt can hardly breathe for how stuffy it is. The stale air makes his growing headache pound against his temples but he keeps taking aspirin one by one to dull the pain. Finn hasn’t said a word since they left home for the hospital and Kurt is grateful for the silence. Static is growing in his ears and he’s pretty sure that even if Finn tried to start a conversation, he wouldn’t hear a word of it.

Carole is waiting for them in the hospital lobby with tissues and a shaky smile. Kurt takes a small comfort in her warm arms before prying himself loose to go sit by his father’s side.

It’s strange, the parallels between the last time he was in this place for this reason. The nurses are different, younger and more visibly upset by Burt’s condition than the older ones from last time. Kurt takes his father’s hand and thinks that it must be nice to be so used to human suffering that you can block it all out and keep pushing through. Some day, he hopes, he’ll have that same strength.

Carole and Finn join Kurt a moment later and the three of them sit around his father with nearly identical looks of devastation. Kurt can feel the tears rising inside him, threatening to force their way out. It’s easy for Kurt to pretend that his father is asleep, resting, so he does. Silence lays over the room like a heavy blanket and Kurt’s make-shift family look everywhere but at each other. They wait.

___

Burt wakes up much quicker than before, rousing late the next afternoon while Kurt is humming him a lullaby. Carole is at the house, getting some rest and Finn is at school. In fact, it’s almost time for glee and Kurt is sure that various members of New Directions have already hounded him for reasons why their calls and texts have been ignored for the past 24 hours. Probably, Finn is already spilling his guts out all over the floor and Kurt can’t bring himself to be upset about it. He can’t bring himself to feel much about anything.

The slack fingers of his father’s hand curl loosely around Kurt’s own and he’s too shocked to cry or call out for a nurse. He has expecting another week of white walls and murmured voices outside the door; Kurt had already planned out how to break the truth to his friends (apathy of his own to offset their worry and anger).

“Kurt.” Burt’s voice is deeper than usual, consonants catching in this throat like silk on a wire and Kurt suddenly feels sick to his stomach.

“Dad, don’t talk yet, you need water first,” Kurt says, softly. Their hands are still clasped together on the hospital bed and Kurt squeezes his father’s fingers just slightly.

“Don’t be stupid, Kurt, I feel fine. How long was I out for?” He asks, coughing a little against the gruffness of his tone.

Kurt turns his head a way and focuses on a poster on the opposite wall; it’s a chart of bones, their placement and purpose in the body and Kurt follows the curves of a stark white ribcage until he thinks it’s safe to open his mouth without every feeling he has inside tumbling out.

“A little over a day.”

“See, that’s nothing compared to last time,” Burt says. His father’s nonchalance makes Kurt’s eyes sting. This isn’t something to get used to, to treat as another annoyance of life to face with rolled eyes and such casual observations.

“It doesn’t matter how long you’re out for, dad, any length of time is too much.” Kurt tries to keep his voice from shaking, and he at least hides it well enough to keep his dad from noticing. Burt huffs lightly, annoyed, and turns his head away. After a moment Kurt can hear soft, even breathing, punctuated by quiet snores and Kurt knows his dad is asleep.

Quietly, he rustles through the messenger bag at his feet for his iPhone so he can send a text to Carole and Finn that Burt is finally awake. The device is lit up with a new text message from Rachel and since it’s the most recent of a litany of other texts and voicemails, he taps the screen to open it.

From: Rachel Berry
To: Kurt Hummel

Kurt, Finn just told us what’s going on with your father and I’m very sorry for your situation. I must remind you, however, that our final confirmations for NYADA are due by the end of the week and I am counting on you for the duet portion. I wouldn’t want you to forget such an important date in all this mess.

Leave it to Rachel to turn a family crisis into her problem. He looks over at Burt, head lolled to the side with his mouth open and thinks about college and New York. The previous text message is one from Mercedes and he opens it too with a gentle tap.

From: Mercedes Jones
To: Kurt Hummel

hey boo, finn just told us all what’s going on. it kinda feels like it’s my own dad in there. I just wanted to let you know that I’m keeping you two in my prayers (I know, I know) and if it’s okay I wanna come see him after school. let me know, alright? I love you.

Mercedes’ love feels like an anchor on Kurt’s heart and all of a sudden he feels like the biggest asshole on the planet. How dare he get caught up in the shine of Rachel Berry’s star and forget about the one person who’s always been there for him? Kurt loves Rachel, he does, but with her he would be nothing more than an accessory and he can’t believe an epiphany like this is hitting him now, of all times.

Kurt sends a quick text to Mercedes (I love you, too. yes please, I’ll see you later?) and turns his phone off, reaching for his father’s hand once more. He thinks about New York and its stars, about NYADA and his future, of his father who will never admit to needing him.

By the time Burt wakes up an hour later for dinner, Kurt has made up his mind for good.

___

Rachel leaves for NYADA on a blustery September afternoon, tears in her eyes as she looks back at her friends through the tinted window of her dads’ SUV. Kurt stands behind the rest of the group and tries to hide the tears with varying degrees of failure. He isn’t exactly sad, and he doesn’t feel like he’s making the wrong choice with Mercedes silent next to him, unflinching like the rock that she is. Part of him, though, thinks about how much he might be giving up.

Telling his father had been easy, initially, because Kurt broke the news to him while Burt was on a heavy morphine drip. He had nodded and squeezed Kurt’s hand, muttering out a rough ‘thank you’ before falling asleep.

Next were Carole and Finn, who he talked to quietly after dinner one night at home.

“Kurt.” Carole took his hand over the dining room table and spoke to him softly with wide eyes. “It isn’t as serious as it seems. Burt wouldn’t want you to give this up.”

Kurt knows that their definitions of serious are vastly uneven; he looks away from her and Finn huffs out a noise of frustration.

“What, Finn?” Kurt asks, staring at the China cabinet across the room.

“NYADA was your dream, Kurt. If you start school a year late then your spot is gonna go to some other dude who probably doesn’t want it as much as you do,” Finn says, his tone insistent.

“Being happy is my dream, Finn,” Kurt whispers and he turns to face him then, “Do you really think I could be happy living in New York with your crazy ex-girlfriend while my dad is here, sick?”

Carole shakes her head in an agreeable manner and taps Finn on the shoulder when he rolls his eyes.

“I think that you’ll be the most happy if you get to make this decision yourself. I know Burt will appreciate it, no matter how angry he’ll be at first.” Her words are hesitant but honest and Kurt folds against her easily. Finn pats him on the back, awkwardly, and says, “Hey, it’s okay, bro.”

Kurt digs his face into Carole’s warm shoulder and stays very, very still.

__

Carole was right, of course. Burt was nothing short of livid to begin with but Kurt stood his ground. He was in charge of keeping Burt’s various medications organized and making sure Burt took them on time. Kurt also helped his father up and down the stairs for the first two months when he could barely walk on his own. While Carole was at work and Finn attended classes at OSU, Kurt spent his days making lunch and dinner for his dad, watching football games with him in between working long hours in the shop. Burt’s doctor gave strict orders to stay away from the shop for at least six months, which Burt promptly ignored. He allowed Kurt to do most of the work and supervised from behind the desk, which was technically following the doctor’s orders.

Mercedes flew back to Ohio for Christmas and spent the first half of her return talking Kurt into attending Columbia College with her the next fall. Since declining the spot offered to him at NYADA, Kurt hadn’t spent much time thinking about what college he would eventually end up attending. Columbia (a performing, media and communicating arts school in the heart of Chicago) was Mercedes’ first choice school, and she had been ecstatic when her acceptance letter arrived. It didn't take much to get Kurt to agree to apply, so he sent in a tape of performances and one of an interview.

When his acceptance letter arrived two weeks later, he called Mercedes over to help show Burt what Columbia was going to be like.

“And he’s gonna be livin’ with you off-campus?” Burt asks, staring hard at Mercedes.

“Yes sir,” she says, unflinching in the wake of Burt’s scrutiny, “I live in a small two-bedroom place, and there’s plenty of room for a room mate.”

The two of them are sitting side-by-side on the old couch in the living room while Kurt watches from an armchair a few feet away. It feels so normal, so natural having Mercedes with his family and Kurt is frustrated with himself for not having her over more during the past few years.

“So why not just get a room mate, why my son?” Burt knows why, of course, and there’s no one he’d rather have his boy off in another state with than Mercedes Jones, but there are some habits he just can’t break and being over-protective happens to be one of them.

“Living with anyone else just wouldn’t be right, Mr. Hummel. Kurt is my best friend, and I think we’ll help each other a lot by living together. Chicago is an amazing city; I can’t wait to share it with him.” Mercedes shrugs and smiles at Kurt, who is trying to act like this isn’t the best thing to ever happen to him (and how ironic is that, all things considered).

Burt nods his approval and grabs the brochure for Columbia College again, “Kurt, come help me figure out this damn map,” and Kurt kneels between them and does.

___

Despite his father’s insistence on letting he and Carole drive up to school with him, Kurt decides to fly up two days before the fall semester starts. Saying goodbye to his father was going to be hard enough in their living room at 5am, blinking back tears as Carole and Finn watched surreptitiously from the kitchen table and Kurt couldn’t imagine having a whole car ride of awkward silences and poorly disguised tears.

Burt pulled Kurt into a hug and spoke softly so only his son could hear, “Thanks kid, for putting your life on hold for me. I appreciate it, but don’t you ever do it again.”

Kurt nodded against his shoulder and took a deep breath of his father’s musky cologne, fully aware of how much he was going to be leaving behind. After a moment, Carole and Finn joined them, encircling Kurt in a strange four-way hug. When Carole murmurs, “We’re gonna miss you, darling,” into his hair, Kurt loses the battle against tears.

___

Chicago is nothing like Kurt was expecting.

He’s standing outside his new apartment while Mercedes is upstairs making breakfast or taking a shower, getting ready for her job at the campus bookstore (completely oblivious); the street is relatively deserted at such an early hour, barely even 7am on a cool Autumn morning and Kurt can’t contain his amazement. The months leading up to this moment have dragging like years.

Ever since nationals the year before, Kurt had been positive that he would never be able to love another city as much as he loved New York. Five minutes of standing on the sidewalk of South Lakeshore Drive proved him wrong. Mercedes has been sending Kurt pictures and letters about life in Chicago and while Kurt had been aware of the lush trees and expansive lake, seeing grainy cell phone pictures can’t hold a candle to the unending hugeness that is Lake Michigan. Kurt passed all along it in his taxi from the airport, and he’s hoping that he’ll be able to see it from their 4th floor walk-up. The apartment is housed in a worn-down brownstone in the middle of the street, which has an iron gate in front of the stairs that Kurt knows is going to give him a headache in the winter. Each floor is a separate apartment and Kurt isn’t looking forward to the creaking stairs and what he’s sure are going to be strange and possibly rowdy neighbors. Tall, sprawling trees line the street with their leaves beginning to litter the ground and Kurt can imagine stomping through them on his way to class, watching their branches become weighted with snow as the year goes on.

In Kurt’s dreams, it was always busy streets full of cabs and sidewalks crowded with too many people, the broken ends of a hundred mixed conversations all blending into the gentle hum of the city. There was times square with its dazzling billboards, music flowing into every crevice of the sidewalk from the open doors of theater after theater. Chicago, it seems, is calm on the surface but teeming with life underneath. The people hurrying down the street aren’t packed so closely together but they wave at each other, sending warm smiles and shrugged shoulders as if to say, “yeah, well hey this is the life, right?” Kurt would have to agree.

___

After surprising Mercedes as she was stepping out the shower (complete with a blindly pink robe on and a matching towel wrapped around her head) Kurt takes his time exploring his new home while Mercedes heads to work.

It’s a small place for two people, but Kurt is already a little bit in love with it. The walls are all a light robin’s egg blue that Kurt can’t wait to accent with dark brown pillows on the cream-colored sofa in the living room. The kitchen window overlooks Lake Michigan, just like Kurt was hoping for, and he can already see himself making a pan of vegan brownies for he and Mercedes to snack on while studying.

Kurt’s bedroom is slightly larger than Mercedes’ to make up for the giant dresser and wardrobe needed to house his extensive collection of clothes and accessories. The bed creaks a little and it’s musty in an otherwise drafty room. But it feels a little like home, somewhere Kurt can’t wait to get used to.

He sends a quick text to his dad (yes my plane arrived safely, no I haven’t gotten mugged and yes the door is locked. i love you, go back to sleep) and eyes the stacks of boxes warily. He and Finn had taken a road trip the week before with a rented U-Haul to get all but a few outfits worth of Kurt’s belongings to the new apartment and they hadn’t seemed quite so intimidating then. Sighing, Kurt grabs the topmost box off the closest stack and sets to unpacking.

___

Kurt’s first week of classes flies by in a rush of papers and sketches and page after page of music in languages Kurt has no desire to speak, let alone sing. Choosing to major in Theatrical Performance and minor in vocal performance seemed like a good idea when Kurt had been looking over the offered curriculum, but it’s becoming more and more obvious that school will be taking over his life: leaving no room for the bursting social life that most college freshman seem to have. It’s hard for him to feel cheated, though, when he gets to come home every night to his best friend and quiet apartment and the moonlight over the water.

All of those things were wonderful and easy enough to get used to; the hardest part for Kurt was adjusting to the schedule of his new job at the off-campus coffee shop: Java City. Most of Kurt’s tuition is covered by scholarships and various government grants, but the rest is just too much for Burt to afford comfortably (especially when he’s already helping Kurt pay the rent). Luckily for Kurt, Columbia College offers a wide array of work study programs, and when he’s offered the choice of where he would like to work, picking the coffee shop was a no-brainer.

Mostly, Kurt is a normal, run-of-the-mill barista. His name-tag has one gold star in the top left corner (a quiet testament to Rachel Berry) and a short line of encouragement written on the back: you could be your own spotlight. Kurt takes orders and makes coffee while keeping enough conversation with customers to be deemed polite. But after class on Thursdays and Fridays Kurt dons a plain white apron and stays late at the shop, kneading dough and mixing fillings for various pastries that the shop sells; he’ll never admit out loud how much he enjoys slumping back into the apartment well after midnight with dough underneath his fingernails, smelling of raspberry preserves and dark chocolate but sometimes Mercedes stays up to help him dust all the flour out of his clothes and she smiles at him softly like she knows.

___

It’s early on a busy Tuesday morning two weeks into the semester and Kurt is up to his ears in irritated students, all demanding their coffee now, please. Class the day before had absolutely kicked his ass, and he has never been more thankful for a short 6 hour shift in his life. If he’s lucky, he’ll be able to get back to the apartment and take a nap before heading to rehearsal and it’s the promise of sleep that propels him through the breakfast rush. Kurt gets the last of his current orders made and is about to clock out for his break when the shadow of an approaching customer falls over his register, which he doesn’t bother looking up from to ask, “Hello, welcome to Java City. Can I help you?”

“Yeah, hi, good morning,” the voice asks in a warm, quiet tone.

Kurt looks up then, and blinks rapidly at the man standing in front of him. He’s short, Kurt notices, compact and unassuming in the harsh fluorescent light of the coffee shop. The slim-fitting jeans he has on seem expensive (hand-stitched detailing on the pockets) and they go perfectly with what appear to be genuine leather ankle boots. There’s a dark green henley shirt clinging to his body with a black, double-breasted coat over top of it and Kurt is staring now because damn, this guy sure knows how to dress himself. Kurt’s eyes finally make it to this mystery man’s face (soft hazel eyes, sharp jaw, kind grin) and the messy head of curls peeking out from beneath a black beanie. The man is gorgeous, and Kurt has no idea what to say to someone like him.

“Um. Hello, good morning,” Kurt says softly, tilting his head just slightly to the side and grinning in what he hopes is an endearing way.

The smile this stranger sends him in return is blinding, and Kurt is momentarily stunned into silence at the sight of it.

“You seem kinda frazzled, and I don’t wanna keep you so I just need a blueberry bagel and a medium drip, please, if you would be so kind.” He’s charming and Kurt feels like the biggest idiot on the planet for how much of this interacting has been spent staring on his part.

“Sure, name?” Kurt asks, trying to sound aloof.

The man furrows his eyebrows in concentration (god, his expressions) and Kurt holds up a cup and a permanent maker for emphasis.

“Oh, duh, yeah, it’s Blaine,” the man (Blaine) says, bouncing back on his heels a little and watching Kurt write his name on the cup with a concentrated frown.

Blaine moves down the counter a few feet and watches quietly as Kurt pours his coffee, handing the pot with swift, sure hands. It’s hard to tell over the music playing all around the store (you give me miles and miles of mountains and I ask for the sea) but Blaine is pretty sure he can hear Kurt humming out a low melody as he fits the lid over the steaming coffee and the ease of it all makes Blaine smile.

“Here you go, that’ll be $3.25,” Kurt says, turning around and presenting the cup to Blaine with a fluttering hand gesture that his eyes can’t quite keep up with.

Blaine takes the coffee and digs around in his pocket for some cash, which he hands to Kurt with a smile, curling his hands around the warm cup in his hands.

“Thank you,” Blaine murmurs and then, when Kurt slides over to his register and begins counting out change, “no, keep the change. Please.”
Kurt’s head snaps up and he drops a few coins in surprise, “But I can’t ju-.”

“Yes, you can,” Blaine interrupts; he takes a sip of coffee and says, “this is delicious, thank you.”

Without another word, Blaine turns around and walks out the door, bell overhead jingling brightly behind him. Kurt blinks, opens his mouth and closes it, looking down at the change in his hands. Blaine had paid him with a twenty dollar bill.

__

In-between rehearsals for his acting course’s showcase for the end of the semester, sketches due every week for Intro to Fashion and Design, piles of trigonometry worksheets and timelines for History prior to 1850, Kurt doesn’t have the time to think about Blaine and his smile. He does homework with Mercedes after class and occasionally the two of them try (and fail) to recreate some of the recipes from the bakery and she dusts flour off her hands and asks if he’s met any people around campus yet. Kurt tells her about Krestian in his trig class and how they always save each other a spot in the back corner of the room, and Joshua in his design class who is always the first to tell him how well his new sketches are coming along. His mind also wanders to Blaine.

Blaine, who has started coming into Java City every Tuesday morning with the same order and an unfaltering smile. With his overwhelming load of coursework, Kurt hadn’t even noticed that Blaine was a regular customer until the week before when he came in and said, “Hey, Kurt, how are you?” in lieu of his usual greeting.

When Kurt frowned at him and said, “How do you kno-.” Blaine had interrupted him by pointing at his name-tag.

“If that is your real name,” Blaine had joked and Kurt rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the warmth that spread to his fingertips from the fondness in Blaine’s voice.

Kurt tells himself that Blaine isn’t anything, just a nice guy in a big city who just happens to be too nice for his own good. It’s even likely that Blaine is straight, but there’s no way for Kurt to know unless he stamps down his anxiety and gets to know the guy. Kurt isn’t the outgoing type when it comes approaching a perfect stranger, but isn’t going out of your comfort zone sort of the point of college? Kurt vows then, with the entire apartment smelling of burnt sugar and Mercedes humming along to the radio, to make an attempt to get to know this boy.