Kurt tossed a handful of bills into the front seat of the taxi before thanking the driver and stepping out into the cold, driving rain., which he hoped would wash most of the mud from his face, hair and clothes. He’d have to come up with a story for his parents before he reached the house-which is why he’d made the taxi driver drop him off one street down. As he trudged past the huge houses with expensive facades and perfectly-trimmed gardens, he couldn’t help noticing how very different his world was from Blaine’s. Were these two completely separate worlds really only a field’s length apart?
Pondering the idea, Kurt fumbled around in his jean pockets for his key, which he promptly dropped to the wet concrete. Rolling his eyes at his own clumsiness, he stooped over to pick them up, attempting to wipe his wet hands on his wet jeans, when he heard footsteps behind him.
“Kurt?” he turned around and stood up, although he was still at least a head shorter than Finn, his freakishly tall step-brother.
“Oh, hey Finn,” Kurt smiled. “Didn’t expect to see you home so early- what time is it, 3 in the afternoon? I thought you were going around to Rachel’s…”
“I am, I’m just…cleaning up first. Drop your keys?” Finn raised his eyebrows slightly.
“What-oh, yeah. I got soaked in the rain…slippery fingers.” Kurt wiped his hands back through his dripping hair, sighing. “Oh, you needed to go inside, right, sorry.” Kurt suddenly realised that he was probably holding his brother up. Upon opening the polished front door to their home, Kurt noticed a single red rose lying on the small coffee table in the downstairs living room, which lay adjacent to the hallway.
Immediately, he knew it was for him-they always were. With delicate fingers, he lifted it off the clear glass table and read the note attached, before rolling his eyes and carrying it up to his bedroom, where even more roses were lying in odd places, scattered around the floor. They would have all been thrown into the bin, along with all the notes, if he didn’t enjoy their soft aroma so much. Although it was quite gratifying to receive roses from his admirers each day, Kurt also found it tiring-he had no interest in any of the men whose notes were piled into his bin, not because he didn’t like them, but because he was just so tired. Tired of being the boy who everyone else decided it was fine to stare at in the street, to send him roses and chocolates and think that he was superficial enough to allow those things to buy his affections.
And he was especially tired of David Karofsky. Dave was a huge, burly boy who was constantly mysteriously popping up everywhere around Kurt, who had even managed to kiss him once, before Kurt had pushed him away and fled the scene. How well he remembered the night when he had cried himself to sleep, because, up until that terrifying encounter, he had never been kissed.
But Kurt was also tired of his parents-tired of the fact that they were constantly trying to set him up with either one of the daughters of some work colleague or another, or, if that failed, one of the boys whom they called “Kurt’s suitors”, which made him feel sick to his stomach.
He collapsed on his bed, gazing at the pastel-painted ceiling, mulling over the day’s events in his mind. Wondering if he would ever see the good-looking Downtown boy who had stolen marshmallows for him ever again. Blaine. He hoped he would see Blaine again-how, and when, was the problem. Kurt supposed that he could always retrace his steps across the field, and back into the strange and wonderful Downtown. It seemed like a decent enough idea in his head, if only he knew how he would find Blaine…
Downstairs, the front door slammed shut and Carole, his step-mother, called out “Hello, I’m home!” just as she always did. Kurt liked Carole, apart from when she hinted at what a “lovely young man that Dave Karofsky is.”
Kurt could hear her, bringing in the bags upon bags of groceries, opening and closing the various cupboard doors, along with their new fridge, which had been purchased after Finn somehow blew up the old one. And, as always, he heard her climbing the staircase up to the level which held all of their bedrooms, followed by a series of quick knocks on his polished oak door.
“Hey, Carole,” Kurt sat up, smiling at her as she bustled in, and sat down on the end of his bed.
“Hello, Kurt, anything exciting happen today? See anyone? Did Dave come over?” Kurt sighed.
“Not really, although I did find my way Downtown…by accident, of course.” He added swiftly, seeing the look that flickered across her face. “And no, Dave didn’t. Or maybe he did, and I wasn’t here…anyway, he left another one.” Kurt held up the blood red rose.
“Well, isn’t that sweet? Oh, you and your admirers, Kurt, what are we going to do with you?” She gently touched his cheek, before making her way back downstairs, where he could hear her beginning to cook dinner. He fell back into the pile of soft cushions adorning one side of his bed, closing his eyes and relaxing, breathing in the sweet aroma of the roses enveloping his senses.
***
That night, at dinner, as Kurt, Finn, Carole, and Burt all sat around the beautifully crafted dining table, Carole brought up Kurt’s adventure out into Downtown. Burt’s hands stopped for a moment, before he asked Kurt if he had found anything interesting about the slums of the city.
“Well,” Kurt replied, “Did you know that there are homeless people living there? I didn’t even know there were homeless people,” he added as an afterthought, taking a sip of iced water. For a moment, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw his parents share a wary glance, before Finn interrupted the moment, saying,
“I thought those were just…urban legends or something.” He furrowed his brow, lines appearing across his visage. “What’s it like Downtown, Kurt?”
“Different,” he said, “Everything is covered in graffiti, and everyone seems to know each other. And the homeless people, too…” he trailed off, stopping himself from mentioning Blaine who, he felt, would not benefit from being brought up as a dinner table topic. After they had each eaten their fill, and had begun to stack the plates into the expensive dishwasher, Kurt overheard Carole telling Burt about Dave’s rose.
“Well, good for him, if that’s what the kid wants to be, let him be that. But just remember to tell him that he still matters, and that he really shouldn’t throw himself around, as if he doesn’t. You know I’m not totally in love with the idea, Carole, but you know I still love him…although perhaps introducing him to a few of your friend’s daughters wouldn’t do any harm…if you understand what I mean.” Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt saw Carole nod in agreement with Burt’s words, and felt a slight sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Of course he knew that his father wasn’t, as he has phrased it, “totally in love with the idea,” but he still seemed to accept it, even if he was still trying to set him up with some of the daughters of his work colleagues, who were nice enough, but nothing more.
Kurt collapsed backwards onto his bed, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, and running them through his damp hair. As he shut his eyes, the image of Blaine’s handsome face swam before him, and Kurt wondered if he would see the boy who had stolen him marshmallows ever again. He sat up suddenly, and twisted around. A brown smudge on the pristine bed cover told him that there was still mud on his back.