Kurt Hummel | Glee (hippobrooch) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2013-05-11 14:33:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log, !network post, !trigger warning, kurt hummel |
Who: Kurt Hummel.
When: Early Saturday morning.
Where: NYC.
What: Implied sexual exploits and depression, nocturnal melancholy.
Rating:PG-13.
Status: Narrative, complete.
Kurt knew that once his 'other' friends knew what he was up to in the days when he faced nothing else but a black hole of oblivion and a vacuum cleaner, they'd be in an uproar. Still, with the exception of Santana, not a single of them was here - it was starting to look as if the Tesseract didn't favor them after all. As did other residents of Potts Tower. And so, there really wasn't anybody who had the right to complain, argue or cause an uproar. All the odds were in his favor here, really. And even if they showed up - he'd been here longer; they still wouldn't have a damn leg to stand on anyway. Right? So far, he still thought that he deserved some serious applause for approaching Fiver on the network just the one time. Eh. It wasn't as if he was that active anyway. Must have something to do instead of sitting around on the network, scrolling past everything at the drop of a hat. Kurt didn't, not really - the job at Guess was droll, mind numbing and nowhere near as interesting as working for Vogue had been. Coming home was the same old routine; he'd discard his bag, make a cup of tea, sit down, stare at the flat screen he only connected when he wanted to watch one of his DVDs (and never on Glee days. Sometimes he'd get frustrated and he'd go clean something. The tea'd be cold by the time he came back to it, so he'd pop it in the microwave, express disgust at the taste to an empty room and then, only then he'd throw it out and go for the coffee. When nobody came round, he'd read a fashion magazine or the newspaper, listen to the radio, check the network, eat and have one glass of wine - at least until the room slowly darkened; after that he'd flip the lights on and decide on his next outfit for the day, drape it all over a chair, take a shower, go to bed. When he woke up too early, he'd either go into the kitchen and bake something - because baking was how he fed his friends - or run off to the baker's to nab the freshest goods while it was still warm. And then the day started all over again. He'd had half a mind to request an apartment with two bedrooms, but really - who (except Rachel) would be in the mood to deal with his little fits of OCDness and rituals here and there? So he tentatively just sort of left that option open, but didn't hold out much hope. Sometimes when he'd look in the mirror, his reflection would stare back like a stranger. And Kurt would stare back, curious who exactly that person was and who it was going to become, this far away from home. And then he'd turn his back and break his pointless routine somehow. Often enough by slipping out of the building towards haunts he was only just now getting familiar with. Or towards a person, rather. Not towards TJ, though. Not right now. Every interaction with him made his heart soar to formerly unknown heights, but short-circuited his brain for a lot longer- it had Kurt exasperated; he'd been head over heels in love before, but this was something else entirely. And really, he didn't want to try to figure it out now - they'd knocked boots together. That was enough for now. Deeming it better to resist him, he texted someone else instead. One ping later, he gladly slid away into the night. Around two hours later, might've been later, but he really hadn't the energy to care, he rolled away from the body asleep next to him and made an effort to pick up his boxers from the floor. Fail - his fingers brushed past the carpet. Finally lifting his head from the mattress, Kurt squinted at his underwear and finally managed to scoop it up. The newt few minutes were spent crawling over the floor on all fours and trying to piece his ensemble together. Thank God he hadn't worn much and really, he wasn't planning on being anything like Madonna in Desperately Seeking Susan. He needed no trophies. He cast another look on the stranger (alright, not so much a stranger now, he reckoned), then scooped up together his things and went to the bathroom as quietly as he could. Kurt's eyes fought a losing a battle with the glaring light in there - and a thoroughly disheveled and naked Kurt Hummel blinked back at him in the mirror. But both rolled their eyes when he saw the dark hickey on his pale skin. In retrospect, it totally wasn't cute. He slid his dark T-shirt over that, pulled up his boxers. Reached for his jeans (thank you, thrift store), sat down on the toilet to put on his sky blue socks and finally pulled off the epic, angry hair flip - and decided to steal a small glob of the hair gel on the counter. Was he breaking any rules? Eh, maybe. He didn't care. He put on his shoes last and then ended up tiptoeing out of the bathroom, bedroom and had made it to the hallway when the other guy stirred; Kurt froze and rolled his eyes. Oh great, the dead had arisen. What came next was sleepy pillow mumbling Kurt couldn't decipher, but he got the gist of it. "Go back to sleep," Kurt told him - and within a few more seconds, Kurt was out of there, already undoing the knot in his earphones. His steps were slow - everyone in this building had to be asleep at this time of night, but Kurt fumbled around on his iPhone and was soon enough immersed in a world of music. Outside however, the city didn't sleep - and he was reminded of the sleepless nights at the very start. But he dismissed those thoughts quickly - almost no one he knew was here. It was too glaring, a little painful. And there's no need to take a stand- Outside, the city was alive, but chilly - and he pulled his coat tighter and began to walk faster towards the entrance of the subway. He stepped down the stairs, briefly looked around at the signs, found his way, swiped his card, passed the turnstile and continued on. for it was I who chose to start.- The car rolled down the tracks and brought with it a world of noise; Kurt followed the motions, got into the most populated car (he wasn't new to NYC, after all) and sat down on the first, clean seat he could find. It was late though, too late for the car to be full. He forgot about posture, slid back in his seat, leaned his head back against the window and closed his eyes. The peace and quiet didn't last long. "Did you know you - wait, are you Kurt H-" A tired chuckle escaped him and he opened his eyes for a few seconds, saw the faces of people who could've been tourists. "No." After that, he closed his eyes again - but still, he caught the rest of the conversation - 'Told you - Kurt Hummel would never probably stay up this late-" Oh God, really? He turned the volume up and let Nina Simone take him elsewhere. Eventually he got up, stood in front of the exit like a good boy and went through the motions, only to realize he'd gotten out on the wrong stop, the fucking wrong stop; he watched the car depart and drew in a nervous breath, tried to fight back the tears. Fucking fine then, he'd walk. Walk all the fucking way; it would make getting in his own bed all that much sweeter. Right there and then, he decided that this was the last time - the last fucking time. Kurt turned around, walked up the stairs and once again, pulled his coat tight when he was greeted by the city lights and the cold. Is there a light up ahead, I can't hold onto very long - Oh, ha. Kurt passed through streets he'd already traveled, his speed decreasing with every turn he made, every street he crossed until he reached Potts tower; it was where he stopped. Would he ever be glad to see it? He scanned the facade to see who was still awake, but came up empty with the names behind the illuminated windows. He pushed past the front door and for once, took the elevator up to the nineteenth floor, dug up his key - thank God he had his key - and entered his flat, where he slowly sank to the floor, the door pressing against this spine. Does it feel that you life's become a catastrophe, oh it has to be for you to grow boy- |