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08 December 2011 @ 10:12 am
Of Comic Cons, Cacti, Rock Stars, & Hard Candy: A Kurtofsky Love Story 10a/?  
Title: Of Comic Cons, Cacti, Rock Stars & Hard Candy: A Kurtofsky Love Story
Author: Celesteennui
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 12914/82939 so far
Spoilers: The more episodes aired the greater the chances are that you will read something that qualifies as spoiler and that this will be considered AU.
Characters/Pairings: Main—Dave Karofsky and Kurt Hummel. Supporting—OC Kyle Queen, OC Jude Bower, Noah Puckerman, Finn Hudson, Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez and lots of other OCs because this is a FutureFic. Dave/Kurt battling it out against Dave/OC.
Summary: FutureFic. Dave Karofsky has a life that, as a teenager, he never thought was possible. He’s out and proud, has a flourishing career, an amazing circle of friends and he is neither chubby nor balding. Life is pretty perfect—right up until his boyfriend decides to break up with him. By text. On his birthday. It’s on the rebound from this debilitating blow to his pride that Dave’s path crosses with that of the last person he ever expected to see again: Kurt Hummel. Despite old wounds, though, a friendship blossoms between Dave and Kurt, one that might do more than ease Dave’s conscience over his high school screw ups—if he can let it. A How-To-Guide on getting over a bad relationship all wrapped up in humor, drama, insanity and tied with a smutty bow.
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee and I make no money from this artistic venture, it is done for the pure enjoyment of writing about one of my favorite shows. Reviews are greatly appreciated and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

So, Grooveshark, and I aren’t buddies anymore, he’s been fickle and quite chompy with my playlists, so, I’ll just lay out the playlist as usual and should you want to look up the soundtrack for the chapter you may.
TV on the Radio-Satellite
My Favorite-Burning Hearts
The Ark-The Worrying Kind
Spoon-The Two Sides of Monsieur Valentine
David Bowie-Rebel Rebel
Michael Bublé-Stuck In the Middle with You
Elis Regina-Águas De Março
Lady Gaga-Yoü and I
This playlist was picked out with much help from winterswallows. Thank you, Bea.

Author’s Note: This story has been an AU officially since around chapter four (episode “Night of Neglect”), I believe, and I stopped watching Glee after the “Prom Queen” episode. Nothing in Comic Cons takes cue from anything Glee Cannon since season two was less 3/4s finished and I’d very much appreciate no spoilers for the show being dropped in reviews. I really don’t want to know what’s going on with it any longer. Thanks for that and an even bigger thank you for reading and reviewing. I sincerely hope you enjoy this chapter, guys.

Ooh, and a thank you to winterswallows for her help, guidance and annoying way of being right.

There were very few things in the world that could truly irritate Kurt anymore. Eight years living on the road had made him at least a thousand times more patient than he had been at nineteen. Given what he remembered of his teenage self—mostly haughtiness, superficiality, and fantastic hair—though, that may not have been saying much. But honestly there were maybe three things that Kurt had no patience for: interviewers asking how his band had been formed for the millionth time, creeps who didn't take the first hint to fuck off, and Jules' excessive perfectionism. He was dealing with the lattermost on that February day, of course.

Now that wasn't to say that Kurt didn't appreciate his friend's genius or her dedication because he did. Jules had a wonderful ear, goddamn incredible really, and it only got better with time. The same with her playing. Guitar, bass, piano, violin—fucking everything—each flick of her wrist still transmuted into a tour de force once released into the air.

And she would never, ever, believe that.

Perfectionist was a tame word for Juliet Hamilton when it came to music. It was the term most used by Padma, Finn, and Noah because they: A) didn't mind repeating chords/rhythms a few million times to appease her, B) they played smaller parts in the creative process, and C) they, frankly, were just nice people. Less nice people—specifically Santana and Kurt—preferred the description "psychotic" when it came to Jules and they rarely made an effort to please her in the studio.

Santana's reasons were better than Kurt's and he could/did admit it. Jules, like all talented, driven people, never knew her own limits and as the woman behind all of that genius, Santana took looking after her wife very seriously. Seriously enough that she never attempted to be anything but honest with Jules. And since Honest-Santana just wasn't compatible with Nice-Santana (which, as far as Kurt was concerned, was a myth) that meant Jules got a fair amount of screeching wrapped in snide comments. Jules also got raucous make-up sex later on but, like everyone else Santana ruled over, she still had to put her penance in.

Kurt, on the other hand, simply got tired. He loved Jules like he loved Noah, Finn, Padma, Rachel, Quinn, and Santana; he would probably even die for her. But would he lay down a twentieth try at a not-even-really-a-demo track after almost ten strenuous hours in the studio? Fuck no. Not for her, not for anyone and especially not when Jules had circles underneath her eyes that looked like bruises.

Yeah, Jules' genius came with insomnia and it made her that much more unbearable to work with.

"Come on, Kurt!" she urged from her spot at the console. Kurt turned off the intercom, momentarily silencing her as he took his headphones off and set them aside. He took a deep breath, preparing himself, before exiting the isolation booth and facing the redhead's demands again.

"I'm done," he informed his partner quite calmly when he met her on the opposite side of the door. Kurt met her livewire sage eyes with his most level and cool gaze—which given the way that Jules' eyes sizzled when she was mad, was a true feat. "I'm tired and I'm done. And so are you." Grabbing his bottle of water that he'd left beside a tray of spare pop filters, Kurt turned away from Jules before she could say anything more and strode toward the door. He spared a moment and risked the fire surely waiting in her glare to call over his shoulder, "Twenty minutes, clean up what you can then save it for now. If you're not out by then I'm coming in with Tana and we'll drag you out."

Closing the door firmly behind him before any protesting could begin (Jules brand protests came with flying bottles from time to time) Kurt collapsed against the frame with a tired sigh. He loved his job, really and truly, and he loved all the people he worked with especially Jules. But fuck if there weren't days when he wondered if managing an explosives factory would be less stressful.

Cool Blue Studios in New Haven was a small, out of the way place. It had been built from the gutted remains of a church that had suffered major fire damage back in the mid 2000s which was how it had been picked up by one of Geffen's subsidiaries for a neat sum. They liked the close-but-not-quite-New-York locale for its "alternative" artists. Which Kurt knew, even without Santana's help, translated to: we'll send the non-billboard acts here. All of that was preferable as far as Kurt was concerned, though. He'd take the privacy of CB's single story layout over the hustle of its New York/LA skyscraper counterparts. It made working ever so much more relaxing. It even mellowed Santana out considerably; or at least that's what Kurt assumed when he walked into the lounge and found her on the couch reading, legs thrown over Finn's lap as his brother painted her toenails.

There were many post-high school relationships that Kurt found odd. Rachel and Quinn's closeness had taken a while to believe and he was pretty sure that no one would ever have expected Noah and him to become so inseparable. But Santana and Finn as besties? Yeah, that one took the fucking strange cake.

It made sense though, in a convoluted way. Santana would never, ever admit to having a heart but Kurt always suspected she'd felt bad for giving Finn so much trouble their junior year. Or at least she had after he walked into the choir room the following fall and found her with her head up some new (moaning) cheerio's skirt. Finn never outed her and from that point on Santana never let anyone—herself included—badmouth Kurt's brother. God didn't really have any soft spots but if she did, Kurt figured at least one would be Finn-shaped.

"I gave your spouse-creature the twenty minute mark before she gets dragged out," Kurt informed Santana. He plopped down beside Noah on a couch across from his brother and their tour manager. His best friend glanced up from his phone and slung an arm around Kurt's shoulders, wordlessly reading the stress on his face. Kurt sighed, closed his eyes, and leaned into Noah's side, resting his head against the other man's chest.

"Good," Santana said. "I was about to make that call on my own and just do the dragging part. I think I'm putting a few Tylenol PM in her dinner tonight, I don't like when she gets like this." Anyone else who didn't know Santana would think that she was barely feigning interest in their conversation. Kurt, like the rest of his band mates, however, had years of practice in reading her cool tones and heard the real concern there.

"Fuck the Tylenol, Tana," Padma advised as she came back to the sitting area from the kitchenette, tea and a sandwich in hand. The sandwich she thrust toward Kurt. Her cow-brown eyes had an edge to them, telling him that he needed to eat that sandwich lest she make him. Kurt didn't fight her edict; Padma was the most agreeable person in the whole world but she could still be pigheaded when she felt the urge to play mom. Besides he was hungry.

Kurt started to eat as Padma sat down beside Finn. She looked like cat as she slipped onto the cushion, as if her form was pure fluid and there were no clunky bones to impede her effortless grace. There was hardly anyone attracted to double-X chromosomes who wasn't enamored with Padma right after introductions had been made. Even Kurt could find no aesthetic faults with her appearance and he tried. Those elegant boneless-bones were just too well assembled beneath unblemished cinnamon skin and magnetic eyes, though. If she wasn't so damn good Kurt would probably have hated Padma on principle.

"If you really loved her, you'd spring for Seconal." Padma grinned at Santana over her tea.

Finn laughed as Santana eyed her. "They're married," Kurt's brother pointed out without looking up from the toe he was currently lacquering. "The need to impress with fancy drugs was done by the time Jules popped the question."

"I'm telling your wife you said that," Padma teased, lightly smacking Finn's shoulder. "Three days before Valentine's no less. Are you even going to make an effort to wow her?"

"Hey," Noah interjected, "his woman makes like twenty times what he does per year. He's a drummer in band AKA trophy husband. Rach needs to wow him, dammit."

"Yeah," Finn agreed as he nudged Padma back with his elbow. "Look at me. Frickin' stud."

Kurt nearly choked on a bite of roast beef as laughter slid up his throat. His brother stuck his tongue out in response. "Watch it," Finn warned though his tone was far from sharp. He pointed the little brush toward Kurt. "I recall someone singing a love song to me once-upon-a-time."

"You watch it, brother mine." He raised an eyebrow at Finn in playful threat. "We agreed to have selective amnesia about that."

"Are we recalling the time you were serenaded with 'A House Is Not a Home'?" Santana drawled looking up from her book and at Finn. Those wicked eyes flitted to Kurt and her plush lips curled. "Do you remember that kid, Kurtie-Kins? I'm pretty sure he was a eunuch."

"I'm not dignifying that," Kurt sniffed. He took a bite of his sandwich and glared at her. "And, quite frankly, I'm disappointed in you. That potshot was way too easy."

Santana sighed as she returned to her book. "Yeah. I know. It's the thought that counts, though. Right?"

"Of course."

Amiable quietness hung in the air for a few moments between the five of them. Kurt finished his sandwich while Noah played with his phone. Finn kept painting Santana's toes, she went back to reading, and Padma sipped her tea. It was probably the most familiar scene in Kurt's whole world. The ambience was slightly lacking since Jules wasn't present scribbling in one of her notebooks. It didn't detract too much, though.

After he had finished his sandwich Kurt pulled his phone out and flicked it on. The intention there was mostly to check the time; he had not been kidding about dragging Jules right out of the recording room after twenty minutes had gone by. Kurt's intentions, though, were sidetracked by a missed call/voicemail alert that flashed across the screen immediately. It was from Dave.

Kurt hit send on Dave's number at once as he stood and walked out into the hall. He had only seen Dave once since the outing two weeks beforehand that they'd taken with their respective best friends. They had grabbed coffee and pączki at Estelle's again, just the two of them, and spent about three hours talking. Not anything heavy like first two times that they'd met up, just talking-talking, about their work, their friends, and that sort of thing. Quite frankly, Kurt enjoyed that the lighthearted banter and intellectual discussion a lot more than he had the conversations that had earned them that. Perhaps because there was no crying or apologies to derail Dave's smile and laughter.

It may have been strange, if he had taken time to (over)analyze it Kurt was sure he could have dug up a reason to be unsettled about liking Dave. But he didn't care to. He had meant his forgiveness and intended for the past to stay good and buried. He hadn't known the real Dave in high school but he was getting there quickly and Kurt liked the man he was bit-by-bit discovering. Very much in fact; he'd even go so far as to call them friends now. Dave had his own ringtone and only Kurt's friends got personal ringtones. Well, all right, everyone in his number bank got one but he actually spent time assigning ringtones to his friends.

"Hey, Kurt," Dave greeted him after two rings. For a second Kurt wondered if he had his own tone in Dave's phone and felt quite pleased about that. Even if he had no real reason to.

"Hey," Kurt said—wondering if it was just him or if his voice was actually that chipper. He was genuinely glad to hear from Dave but, Christ, he wasn't a sixteen-year-old with a crush.

No, he was not.

"How was Florida?" he asked leaning against the wall next to the studio's main entrance and ignoring the little voice at the back of his head. "You're back in town today right?"

Dave and Kyle had left for Orlando the previous Friday to attend a comic convention there on Saturday and Sunday. They had taken a few extra days to drive down to Miami and visit with Kyle's brother, Patrick, who was a senior at FIU.

"Yeah, Jude just dropped us off at the house about an hour a go," Dave said. "And Florida was pretty nice. I like having four seasons up here but a break from the cold wasn't a bad idea. Plus, Pat's a fun kid." The rich, low sound of Dave's laughter felt warm despite the minor static that accompanied it.

Kurt chuckled himself. "Well, if he's anything like Kyle I can only imagine."

"Nah, Pat's one of the mellow ones. At least as mellow as they make Queens." There was an almost devious sort of mirth in Dave's tone.

"I don't think I ever want to meet any of Kyle's siblings," Kurt told him. It was only half a joke; he imagined all of Kyle's brothers as male versions of her. Smaller breasts (hopefully because no man deserved natural bitch tits like those foisted on him) and shorter hair but an equal amount of that wolverine-esque glint in their eyes.

Again, Dave laughed. "Aw, don't judge all of them based on her. Geoff, Jimmy, and Pat are really nice guys."

"I notice that you chose not to say what the other five were."

"I'm just going to say all of Kyle's siblings have treated me like one of their own."

"And that's a good thing?" Another half joke because that image of eight very large, acerbic, and ass-kicking men refused to dissipate. In fact the more Kurt thought about Kyle's siblings the more the more he was sure a glare from them could set something on fire.

The chuckle that rolled from Dave was softer, almost soft enough to be lost in the static but Kurt caught it nonetheless. It belayed that, even if Kyle's brothers were as scary as Kurt (somewhat) feared, their treatment of him was indeed a good thing.

"Yeah," Dave said, confirming that thought, though quite frankly he didn't need to. "Most of the time it really is."

Kurt didn't respond to that comment directly. He honestly didn't know how to phrase how happy he was that Dave had a real family now—not just the obligatory façade as provided by his biological parents—without it sounding awkward. So he didn't try; though he liked to think that his smile was caught in the short silence that dipped between Dave's words.

"So how's your week gone?" the other man asked. "Any easier than the first?" The barest hint of amusement was in Dave's voice; he'd listened to Kurt whine about Jules the perfectionist during their last meet-up.


"Aw, shit, dude, I'm sorry." Kurt could see Dave cringing as he held his phone.

"Don't be," Kurt said. "Art takes blood, sweat, and tears, after all."

"Yeah, true," Dave said. "I mean, Kyle says my tears give the paint the right consistency but, really, I've got to take her word for it."

Kurt was very glad that the studio supervisor had gone on break (or whatever it was the frigid witch did ninety-nine-percent of the day; she was never at the her desk) and couldn't see him giggling like a five-year-old. He collapsed on a bench nestled between two tacky potted palms, covering his mouth even though there was no one to hear the occasional piggy, little snort that escaped.

"Thanks," he told Dave when he could form words properly again. His cheeks felt warm and the muscles in his face much less tense now that they'd been sufficiently pulled in a direction that wasn't a frown. "I needed that."

Again, Kurt could visualize Dave's actions as he spoke with certainty. He could feel those broad shoulders roll in a shrug and the right side of the other man's mouth tugging upward, just barely showing his upper teeth. "Don't mention it. Least I could do after enjoying beaches and sunshine while you were up here toiling in the cold."

"I won't be too jealous," Kurt promised. "I mean, just as long as you don't flaunt how many hot guys in Speedos you saw while you were there."

"Hmm…" Dave feigned thoughtfulness. "Maybe inviting you over Sunday is a bad idea then. Kyle will totally parade all of the pics she took. I don't want to be cruel here but she did get some awesome high-contrasts of surfer abs."

"What now?" Kurt's interest was torn between the part about being invited to Dave and Kyle's home on Valentine's Day and surfer abs. As hard up has he'd been Kurt may actually have salivated the tiniest bit at the thought of a bellybutton surrounded by firm stomach.

Boy, you are pathetic, his least favorite voice (the one that sounded like Santana) cooed.

"Well, that's the main reason I called earlier," Dave said. "Kyle and I are hosting this year's Singles Awareness Day gathering. We thought you and Noah might like to come if you didn't have any other plans."

"Um, as far as I can recall we do not," Kurt said. He pulled his knee up to his chest trying to ignore how excited Dave's invitation had really made him. Jesus, he really was kind of pathetic anymore. "What exactly does this gathering entail?"

"Wine, fatty foods, wine, good movies, wine, and generally entertaining company peppered with apathy for happy couples." Dave's voice had an almost singsong quality to it as he rattled off his list. "Oh, and have I mentioned wine? 'Cause there tends to be a lot around when the bitching-about-happy-couples thing starts."

"Well, yeah," Kurt drawled. "You can't celebrate S.A.D. properly without at least five bottles." Maybe it was a little bit pessimistic (okay, it was really fucking pessimistic and Kurt was okay with that) but he had never really come to appreciate the so-called spirit of Valentine's Day. The only one he had celebrated with any sort of fervor was the one he'd shared with Blaine his senior year. And honestly? Most of the excitement there had been put on to please his then-boyfriend. Grown-up Kurt and teenage-Kurt would always have a very cynical outlook on February 14th in common if nothing else.

"Five?" Dave snorted. "You lightweight."

"Hey, genes made me a teetotaler, not choice."

"Mhmm, well, I'm just giving you fair warning: don't drive yourself if you're going to drink. Kyle's vicious about keeping guests safe." A heavy sigh rattled across the line. "At the last Memorial Day barbecue she tackled poor Vince to get his keys away from him."

The fact that Kyle would show love and concern through violence didn't surprise Kurt. What made him raise his eyebrows (or what would later, when he thought about it long enough) was that it didn't remotely surprise him. More than that, he kind of expected and even accepted it. It was, Kurt supposed, just part of her charm.

"Thanks," he said. "I'll remember to stuff an emergency twenty in my sock. When should I do that, by the way? What time does the wine come out and the whining begin?"

Dave groaned loudly and Kurt would swear he heard the distinct slap of palm meeting forehead. "Oh, Christ-on-a-pogo-stick, that was awful, Kurt. Just—wow. You and Kyle have been texting, haven't you? Because that? That was a trademark Kyle bad."

"Maybe, maybe not," he snickered. There was no maybe, though; Kurt had totally exchanged more than a couple of texts with Kyle since the shopping trip. Mostly about shoes and the like but a few fun stories had been traded between all of that; he'd sent her video clips of Velvet Goldmine Night.

"Ugh-huh," Dave said. "I'm going to go and nap now before I say something incriminating."

"Oh you're no fun."

"And I'm okay with that," the other man told him. "I'll text you the party details later on, okay? Or Kyle will. Someone will. I promise." He laughed a little bit. "I was serious about that nap. Vacation time wasn't as vacation-y as it could have been and I've got a shit-ton of unpacking to do."

"I think you're lying." Kurt was surprised at the sincere disappointment rising up against his ribs that his conversation with Dave was ending. He chided then consoled himself over the fact that they'd have plenty of time to talk on Sunday anyway. With wine and good food involved. "Kyle told me the first night we met that she takes care of all of your clothes. We both know you're not putting anything away, David Karofsky." Kurt debated for a moment or two, gnawing at his lower lip, before adding on, "Or touching her ironing board ever again."

"Fuck, she told you about that!" Dave all but shouted and Kurt had to hold his phone away from his ear a bit. It didn't really bother him though, on the contrary, Dave's reaction was more-or-less expected and had Kurt giggling once again. "God dammit—it was once! Once! And she's the one who tried to make me learn that shit in the first place! It's her fucking fault for misdirection!"

"Dave, you understand multivariable calculus but not when to move the iron?" he continued to tease.

Dave growled deep in his throat and fuck, if just for a second that didn't send something racing down Kurt's spine before he dutifully tamped it out. "I'm hanging up now. Before I say something that incriminates me further."

"I don't think it's a crime to burn your own shirt, Dave."

"Goodbye, Kurt." There was a finality to Dave's tone that told Kurt he indeed was going to hang up. Right after he got the last word in. "Have fun recording."

The line went dead while Kurt's jaw dropped a little. He pulled his phone away to stare down at it. A slow smile crept over his face and Kurt finally had to laugh.

"Oh you bitch." He meant it as fondly as possible, of course.

Ending the call from his end Kurt stood and returned his cell to his back pocket. Dave's last jibe had reminded him that his business for the day was far from over. And, it, unlike Dave, really was going to be kind of a bitch—in more ways than one.

Still, for whatever reason, plans to look forward with the weekend, a good conversation, or maybe it was even just hearing Dave's voice again, Kurt didn't feel as tired as he should have.


Party details came as promised sometime late Friday morning. Actually they came twice, once just after ten and then an hour or so later. The second held a schedule change (Saturday instead of Sunday) and a suggestion that made Kurt inwardly cringe for just a second or two. Dave had apparently volunteered Jude to be Kurt and Noah's ride since they lived in the same building and were heading in the exact same direction. Briefly, Kurt thought about texting Dave back and saying that it was unnecessary but aborted that idea as quickly as it came. There was no good reason, he rationalized, to turn away the assistance. Jude knew the way and just because he wasn't poor didn't mean that money should be tossed at cabs for any old reason.

Jude was being amiable enough, anyway. He'd called Kurt Friday evening, almost chipper as he rattled off what time he wanted to leave by and possibly stopping by the store on the way. Kurt couldn't be sure that they would ever be friends or anything but the lump of uncertainty he'd had concerning the other man was dwindling.

Friday night the rest of the band abandoned the New Haven apartments. Santana and Jules had a romantic trip at a B&B in Vermont planned (which Noah would probably never stop teasing them about) meaning Santana forced a half-day at the studio so that they could beat traffic. Padma left right around the same time Santana and Jules did; she was driving to Trenton where her boyfriend, Alfie, was waiting on her. Finn, of course, despite all the joking, had made some pretty good V-Day plans concerning his wife and he was heading into Manhattan by four o'clock himself. Kurt and Noah celebrated the return of their "bachelor pad" aptly; they ordered Chinese and Noah convinced Kurt to join him on his newest war game's online campaign before an early bedtime. It made him feel extremely old to think about it but fuck it, the week had been long and if he was going to be an any sort of a partying spirit Kurt needed a good night's sleep.

His sleep debt was obviously deeper than he'd been anticipating because Kurt crawled into bed around ten-thirty and didn't wake up until just before eleven. It was unusual for him, very unusual, but working with Jules in-studio was unusually stressful, so he supposed that it evened out.

Kurt spent most of his time after breakfast and before getting ready doing laundry, his own and Finn's. Eight years of adulthood and his brother had yet to learn how to properly operate a washing machine. After his last attempt (he'd overdone the soap) none of them wanted him to try again either. It was just after the last load popped out around two and Kurt was getting ready to shower that the doorbell rang.

"Noah!" Kurt called, hoping against hope that his best friend would take care of this one. He really didn't want to greet anyone in the sloppy t-shirt and sweatpants that he wore for housework. Poking his head out of his bedroom door Kurt looked up the hall and scanned what little he could see of the living room/kitchenette. "Noah!" There was no sign of the guitarist though Kurt had the sneaking suspicion Noah could hear him, wherever he may have been hiding.

"Dammit, Noah," he growled. "Fine! Let me get the door! I've just been working all morning, you know, not doing anything stressful like playing Halo 9!" Kurt imagined all of the nice, torturous little ways Noah was going to have to pay him back as he sucked in a breath, straightened his clothes (as best one could straighten sweatpants and a shirt three times their size) before opening the door.

On the other side was Jude, dressed in his jacket, scarf, gloves, and a nervous smile. Immediately Kurt felt a twinge in his gut.

"Um, hey," Dave's best friend greeted him with a wave. He shifted a little on the balls of his feet, restlessly.

"Hey," Kurt said slowly. "You're kinda early." He glanced at the clock on the microwave which read just five minutes after two P.M. "I thought we didn't have to leave until four?"

"Ugh, about that..." Jude's plush lower lip was worried between his teeth for a second or two. "I can't go. I've got a work emergency and I don't think I'll be getting out until later this evening." The glint in his eyes was truly remorseful.

"Oh." That had probably been the thing Kurt least expected to hear from the other man. Relief swelled beneath his ribs for just a second before guilt deflated it. He really needed to get all of this senseless paranoia out of his system before he did something incredibly stupid.

"I already called Kyle and let them know what was going on with me," Jude continued. "Do you need directions to their house? Do you have the address to give the cab? I can text it to you if you don't." His phone was already out and turned on.

"It's all right." Okay, now he felt a little bit like a douchebag for thinking anything negative about Jude. His startlingly blue eyes were sincere and contrite and he was back to gnawing at his lip. He was going to miss a good chunk of his best friends' party and he'd come to make sure that Kurt and Noah—who he really owed nothing to—could still go.

Kurt shook his head assuring Jude. "Kyle put the address into my phone with her and Dave's numbers that first night we met. We're good." He paused for a second, feeling extremely awkward and even more guilty (if that were possible). "I'm—I'm sorry you can't go with us."

Jude shrugged but smiled good-naturedly. "It is what it is, you know?"

"Yeah, but still, it sucks," he said.

"Yeah," Jude agreed. "A little bit." He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and flashed one last boyish smile. "Well, I'll see you later tonight. Have fun."

Kurt returned the smile with a short wave. Yeah, he was really feeling like an irrational jerk right about then. From now on if Jude didn't wave back in the gym Kurt was going assume that he was in the zone with his music on and be happy about it God dammit. "Hopefully not too much later. I hope everything goes well."

"Thanks, man." Jude waved back as he turned. "See ya."

"Bye." Kurt closed the door as Jude rounded the corner and sighed heavily. He had a cab to call, a shower to take, and plenty of kicking himself to do before the cab showed up.

Chapter was to massive for LJ to handle in just one post, so click here to head onto the second half.

Previous Chapters

Chapter One: Release The Kraken
Chapter Two: Green Eyed Monsters
Chapter Three: Words To Live By
Chapter Four: Left Field Doesn’t Do It Justice
Chapter Five: All The Words Left Unsaid
Chapter Six: A Clean Slate Part A|Part B
Chapter Seven: As Said Best By Emerson
Chapter Eight: Every Time We Meet
Chapter Nine: Allusion vs. Illusion
Current Mood: anxiousanxious
Travis: Hey Prettysnikelfritzz on December 9th, 2011 10:10 am (UTC)
Oh hello new chapter. I, for one, am completely blissed out at this point and debating continuing... do I save some for later or just gobble it all down right now? This is more difficult than staring down a pint of ben and jerrys haha <3
celesteennuicelesteennui on December 10th, 2011 02:33 pm (UTC)
Lol, decisions, decisions...
caliena on December 10th, 2011 08:20 am (UTC)
Wow, finally found the time to read the first part, second has to wait a bit.

So, I LOVE the description of Kurt's life.
I love how you flesh out all these characters!

The phone call was fun, I really like to see Kurt and Kyle bonding.

And huh...
Jude seems strange...
Excited to see what his behavior is about!
celesteennuicelesteennui on December 10th, 2011 02:35 pm (UTC)
Thank you, sugar, I'll see you on the other end hopefully soonish. :)