#i would like to buy a drink for whoever picked out that waistcoat | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lifeofroos · 3 years

Text

Part 34: Ever seen a god in IKEA?

In short: Nico gets therapy from Dionysus. In this chapter, Nico goes to IKEA to fix something, with a special guest. The rest can be found on AO3 and FanFiction.net! Also in Tumblr tags like Nico di Angelo, Trials of Apollo, Pjo, etc. This might be crazy: Chapter 34: Coffee in a cardboard cup ‘Is this sort of like Hephaestus’ workshop?’ My dad looked up at the big, glowing IKEA logo over our heads.

‘Let’s say it sells you the parts to start your own Hephaestus’ workshop at home.’

‘Then why are we here when we could have gone to Hephaestus?’

‘There is a restaurant. Also, most mortals cannot go to Hephaestus’ workshop.’

‘They could in the old days!’

‘These aren’t the old days anymore.’

‘That is no reason to go to a dump like this.’

I sighed. ‘Let's just get inside.’

‘So, what do you need? Let’s be quick, I don’t want to be here any longer than necessary.’

‘We’ll have to follow the route through the entire store. That might take a while.’

Hades threw his hands in the air, which made his robes flutter. I wondered what the mortals saw through the mist. ‘Why?’

‘Store design. Probably a tactic to generate money.’

‘How stupid.’

‘Let’s just go, dad. I know what I want, so we can quickly walk past the bedroom- and kitchendisplays.’

Even though Hades speed walked through the IKEA, pulling me along, it took about fifteen minutes to get to cupboard display. My dad was walking so fast we almost skipped them.

‘How big is this store?’ Hades yelled when I told him to stop. A few people looked at us.

‘Big. Okay, I am going to choose one of these cabinets.’

‘Yes, you will. Why, again?’

I stared at the cabinets in front of me. It needed to be thin and about a metre high. For a second, I wondered whether I should just lie about dads’ question.

‘I wanted to make a memorial for mom. And for Bianca.’ Also Bianca, although I might have mentioned that to soften my intent.

‘...ah.’ He ruffled with his sleeves. ‘Did you already tell me that?’

‘Only in passing,’ I muttered. Not with so many words. It was difficult, okay?

‘Okay, eh, but, I think it is a good idea.’

I looked up and gave him an awkward smile. ‘Yes. Thanks.’ I turned back to the cabinets.

‘I think I want the black one. With the glass window.’

‘Not the white one?’

‘No, that one is thicker, I don’t want that if I can have the other one.’

‘Oh.’ He looked a little confused. ‘Than we’ll take the black one. Can you carry it?’

I turned around. ‘We don’t have to, not yet anyway.’ I looked around. ‘Do you see a dispenser with pencils and paper somewhere?’

‘Paper and pencils? What do you need those for?’

‘We need to write down the number and unpronouncable Swedish name of this cabinet...’

‘Nico, we can just get out of this store. I’ll ask Hephaestus to make you a cabinet.’

I shook my head. ‘I wanted to get it here. Then it feels like I made the cabinet myself without having to cut wood or something.’

‘This is a pre-made cabinet!’

‘It only looks like that.’ Oh, dad, if only you knew. I noticed a pencil dispenser close by and walked towards it. Like a good citizen, I took only four pencils when I could have totally gotten five.

After I had written down the product information, I looked back at my dad, who looked very confused by everything. ‘Now let’s go to the storage room before we buy a bunch of useless stuff.’

‘How long are we going to be in here?’

‘I don’t know, maybe twenty minutes?’

‘I want to get out. And I don’t feel tempted to buy anything at all here, I don’t know why you are afraid we’ll buy useless stuff.’

I was tempted. I wanted to have the fancy black lamp, for example. I had to admit, my father was a good IKEA partner. He stopped me from caving. ‘We’re almost there.’

My father nervously looked around. ‘What even is the storage room?’

‘It is like the Underworld of IKEA. We pick up a box with everything we need to built the cabinet ourselves.’

‘What an...’ He took a pause. ‘...unique concept.’ I looked over my shoulder.

‘Yes, it is.’

‘This is it?’

‘it is.’

‘Also, Nico, I think it is a very good idea.’ I looked up from taking the box of the shelf. Dad was looking at the ground. ‘To make a memorial. I could not do such a thing. It would hurt too much to remember my past.’

I took a second to reply. ‘Yes, I get that.’ He looked like he wanted to say something, but it did not come. Not now, at least.

‘Okay, now we got this… this.’ Hades looked at the box. ‘And now? Somehow it feels like we are still stuck in this prison of interior design.’

‘We can get something to eat at the restaurant. Or something to drink.’

‘Yes, yes, let’s do that. Eh, where do we keep the…’ He narrowed his eyes, while trying to read the Swedish on the side of the box.

‘We’ll just carry the you-know. Come, I want a cup of something.’

The restaurant amazed him even more than the store itself. We sat down at a table next to the window, each with a cardboard cup of coffee. He took a deep breath. ‘I want to say that I might have something you want to put into your shrine,’ he mumbeld.

‘Memorial cabinet.’ I didn’t like to call it a shrine.

‘...Memorial cabinet.’ He shifted into a different position.

I took a sip of my coffee. It tasted like sludge, but it was better than what I had drank at Hephaestus’ place. ‘What then?’

My father snapped his fingers. A picture of my mother appeared out of thin air. ‘This. I kept it for quite some time, but I think...’ He swallowed. ‘...you know, I also learn things from the things you tell me. And I think keeping something like this around isn’t healthy for me? But it might help you.’

I looked at the picture. It was a black-and-white photo of my mother as a young woman. She was wearing a hat, a waistcoat, gloves and a string of pearls. She was smiling widely at whoever was holding the camera.

I smiled back at her. Hades put a and around his cup. He knew he should get rid of it, he just could not get himself to destroy it for good.

I looked up at him. ‘Thanks. I’ll put it into my cabinet.’

‘I know you will.’ He looked out the window, to the people in the parking lot. ‘I still have a locket as well, and a picture of Bianca. You can have those too.’

‘Maybe it can be our memorial.’

‘I think I it has to be your memorial.’

I slowly nodded, while taking a sip of my sludge and trying not to gag.

While we were carrying the cardboard box into the parking lot, I looked up at my dad. My heartrate increased. ‘You said it should be my memorial.’

He immediately knew what I was getting at, probably because he had been thinking about since I told him I wanted to make a memorial. ‘Nico, eh, about Alecto, and the Lethe.’ He lowered the box to the ground. ‘In hindsight...’ he pulled on his sleeve. ‘In hindsight I think that is one of the worst things I have done.’ He looked like he was about to cry. ‘When you and your sister were small, it seemed like a good idea. I wanted to free you two of the weight of being demigods, or at least the weight of having a dead mother. I should have known...’ He moved his hands to the side. ‘...I should have known it does not work that way. That it was absurdly stupid to even think of it.’ He held a hand in front of his eyes. ‘Sorry, Nico. Sorry. If it means absolutely anything, sorry.’

I looked at him. ‘It doesn’t bring my memories back,’ I muttered, ‘But now that I see that you…’ I looked at the ground. ‘It does mean something to me, dad.’

‘Not everything.’

‘Not everything. But something.’

He took a deep breath. ‘Something is good,’ he said. Slowly, he picked up the box again. ‘Let’s get this to...’

‘To camp?’

‘To camp. But next time, you are going to get it made by Hephaestus. Maybe you can even ask Dionysus to request it. Those two go way back.’

Yes, they did. ‘Is that very well known?’

‘Of course it is. You could even say Hephaestus was the first person Dionysus ever helped with his mental issues.’ He sighed.

We brought the box to my cabin via teleportation. Hades forgot to say goodbye. He just left me alone with my box, a few posters for the mental health action me and the Apollo campers had been working on, and Will, who was asleep on my bed.

I laid down next to him. He groaned. ‘Nico?’

‘Who else.’

‘Everything okay?’

‘Yes. I think I might go to Hephaestus in a few days, to talk and to let him make my cabinet more beautiful.’

‘Nice.’ He drifted off to sleep again. Not soon after, so did I.

A/N: the trouble with the world today beyond a doubt, is coffee, in a cardboard cup.

It might be more than just Coffee In A Cardboard cup LMAO. But go listen to that song, it was in the musical ‘And the world goes ‘round.’ I love it, it is my happy song.

Nico and Hades managed to avoid all the ghosts of people who went into IKEA and never got out this time. Be safe, people, don’t let IKEA take your soul. Don’t sell it for meatballs.

Sorry to any Swedish readers. I am sure the words on the side mean something, but I imagine that to an American they look like nothing, that is why I wrote it this way.

17 notes · View notes

wilwywaylan · 4 years

Text

In only seven days (or the life and times of a sullen convenience store employee) (part 4 - The End)

Fandom : les Misérables

Modern AU, Jehan x Montparnasse, 4280 words

The last part, where everything comes to fruition !

For @kujaku-myoo, @jesvisfarovche, @aux-barricades. It’s done ! :D

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Also on AO3 !

On Sunday, he doesn't feel better at all. It's even worse than the last day. His head pounds horribly, he's freezing, his lips are chapped, his throat hurts like he's swallowed a handful of broken glass, and the worst, his nose is stuffed. He's really, really tempted to call in sick, but he can't. Even if the shop owner doesn't get on his case, it wouldn't look very good to go missing just after Javert visited him. And HE would get on his case, and not let go. He doesn't need this in his life.

He gets out of bed, slowly. wincing when his muscles protest. Everything aches. He feels like someone beat him within an inch of his life. When all of this is finished, he'll stay in bed for at least a week. The world will have to go on without him, as will the others. Soon, he can do it. Just one day to go. That's what loops in his mind. Just one day to go. One day. You can do it.

He gets dressed in the warmest and most comfortable clothes, and screw elegance tonight, he'll need all the comfort he can gather. He'll just have to avoid any reflective surface to not see the disaster, and that's all. He'll live. At least, his jumper keeps him warm enough, even if it's a cable-knit, lumpy monstrosity. Fortunately, it's all black. Thanks whoever for small miracles. He grabs the clothes fresh out of the dryer, wraps a long scarf around his neck, puts on his gloves and coat, and out he goes, before he can change his mind.

He almost does as soon as he's set a foot outside. It's windy, and maybe it's not raining yet, but the dark grey clouds, hanging low, are a promise that will sooner or later be cashed in. He hurries as much as he can, tries not to think about his muscles protesting against the pace.

The other clerk greats him with a raised eyebrow.

- You look like shit, she remarks.

- I hadn't noticed.

She takes the clothes from him, puts then in the back room.

- There's some medicine in the back, she calls as she leaves. Might help.

Montparnasse immediatly goes to dig in the back room. As she said, there are a few pills in a drawer. He doesn't know if they are still good, or clean, or whatever. They look like normal cold medicine, so there's that. Can't hurt anyway. He downs them with a glass of water, goes back to the counter and tries not to fall asleep on it right away.

When the door opens, he barely lifts his head. And immediately lowers it. Too many bright colours. Too much noise, too. It's the guy with the bow-tie again, and gaudy pants. Who in his right mind wears mustard-coloured pants ? They are so horrid they hurt Montparnasse's eyes each time he moves. He tries to keep his head low, so he doesn't notice right away two very noteworthy things. One, those terrible pants are held by suspenders. Rainbow suspenders. There should be a law against that kind of things. Second, he's not alone, there's a guy with him, who's not talking much, so Montparnasse doesn't pay attention to him at first.

It's Sweater Guy. The one with the undercut and the books and the old grampa style. The one Montparnasse thought vaguely should hook up with Bowtie Guy, because their styles are as nightmarish as each other. Well, who knows, they do know each other. Birds of a feather and all that. Sweater Guy seems to tolerate Bowtie Guy's chattering, or at least not want to dunk him in the nearest freezer. Good for him.

They walk to the counter in sync, and could they be more obvious ? They do. Because Bowtie Guy looks at the other, and it's the most disgusting account of puppy eyes Montparnasse has seen since.... well, since Grantaire and his blondie were there, but still. And... Sweater Guy is answering in kin. Montparnasse wants to tell them to scram and go and be horribly sweet somewhere else. At least, they don't take time to chitchat or kiss or whatever else they could do that would be even worse than those googly eyes, they pay and they leave. Holding hands. Montparnasse doesn't know if he should barf or laugh because Bowtie is way smaller and is practically hanging from Sweater's arm. Oh well, good for them. As long as they're out of his sight.

It seems to be the roll-call of this week, because all the students he's seen come and go in increasing weirdly situations seem to come in. Grantaire drops by a little later, almost covered head to toe in paint, just stopping by to buy some cleaning supplies, and Montparnasse is sure the red thing that dances just outside of the halo given by the shop windows is Blondie's hoodie, with Blondie inside, trying very hard not to look like he's waiting for Grantaire. Who is in and out of the shop in less than a minute, barely waving at Montparnasse. Oh well, he can't hold a candle to Blondie, now, can he ? (does he want to ? no.)

Next to come in is Feuilly, buying packs of smoke as he shouldn’t do, but Montparnasse is not his mother, is he ? If Feuilly wants to smell like smoke, that’s his business. He takes one look at Montparnasse, and of course has to open his mouth.

- You look like shit.

- Thanks, you too.

- No, seriously. You look sick. What happened ?

Montparnasse is very tempted to tell him, allow himself to be pitied for three seconds. But someone else puts his head through the door and calls :

- Hey, Feu, what’s taking so long ?

It’s the dude from earlier that week, the muscular one with the hideous neon shirt. But he’s dressed…. Way better than Montparnasse. He now wears a stylisher sweater than him, a coat that looks very nice, an accent scarf in soft shades. With his hair in a bun, it’s quite a sight to behold. Feuilly seems to think the same, because he looks at Buff Guy, then back at Montparnasse, then at Buff Guy again, as if caught in a hesitation. Okay. He’s been caught too. Gods, is there something in the air that makes everyone crush on each other ? In his greatest display of selflessness, Montparnasse nods towards Buff Guy.

- Go. I’ll be okay.

- Are you sure ? Because you….

- Look like shit. Bears repeating. He’s waiting for you, go.

- But…

- I’ll live. Now go before he turns into a pumpkin or something.

Feuilly smiles at him and squeezes his arm before leaving, in a gesture that’s way more comforting than the other guy last time. Buff Guy waves at him with a smile that’s… not victorious or anything, just friendly. Hm. May not be too bad for Feuilly. But Montparnasse still makes a mental note to drop him the “if you hurt him” conversation. Wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea.

The thought entertains him for a few minutes, but it's not long before he's back to shivers and trying to keep his hands warm. He goes in the back to pick a cup of coffee, and it's a great help, but it doesn't last very long. So he drinks cup after cup, enjoying the burn of the shitty coffee in his throat and on his fingers. Soon, he's probably going to ascend to another plan of existence where sickness doesn't exist, the sky is made of Prada jackets and leather shoes grow on trees.

A voice pulls him out of his reverie.

- Hello ? Montparnasse ?

It's the small Scarf Guy - Joly, he remembers - cheerful as ever. Well at least for the first second. Then he seems to see the state Montparnasse is in. Immediately, he pulls his scarf up to cover his face.

- What ? Montparnasse asks dryly.

- I've... come to pay for the supplies, comes the muffled voice.

Montparnasse gathers the boxes and scans them, all the while looking at Joly who has stepped back and looks at him like he has the plague. When it's time to pay, he puts the money on the counter and pushes it towards him, rather than give him directly. Montparnasse would have retorted something clever, but his brain is running idle, and he just shoes him away. Joly doesn't need to be told twice and scampers. Idiot. It's just a cold.

The rest of the night is a blur, people come and go, they probably talk to him and he answers, he presses buttons and the register chimes, but it's all lost in the fog. Like when Prouvaire came in the first time, but way, way less enjoyable. His blood rushes in his ears, covering any noise, making it difficult to concentrate on anything. Worse, his head feels full of lead, too heavy to carry normally. He ends up with his forehead resting against the counter, trying to believe that the coolness of the cheap plastic is doing wonders on his headache.

The door opens, and he knows he should get up, but he can't. He's too exhausted. Too bad if it's a biker gang who's going to steal and destroy everything in their path, he's not getting up. He can sleep here for all he cares.

- Montparnasse ?

The voice would have make him bolt upright, would he have the strength. Instead, he just turns his head so he can at least glance at Prouvaire. At first, he only sees a whirlwind of colour, a long line of bright orange, a pale face. He blinks several times, squints a little even if it makes his face look ugly. The line becomes a braid falling on a shoulder, the various colours assemble into a waistcoat worn on a large collared shirt, jeans, a long coat reaching their calves, and a skirt patterned as a Van Gogh painting. And those boots. The face comes into focus too, with all the lovely details, the freckles, the small curls on his forehead, and the mismatched eyes. And the concerned look. They look really concerned. Concerned for him ? He's carrying a plastic bag that already contains something. Did he shop and Montparnasse didn't notice ?

- Montparnasse ? Prouvaire calls again.

Montparnasse tries to answer, but what comes out of his mouth is more of an articulated groan that normal words. Prouvaire seems comforted, seeing that he's still alive. He shows him the bag.

- Joly told me that you were sick, so I brought you a few things.

.... What ? He what ? Montparnasse frowns, trying to make sense of it. He should be able to, but the dots don't want to connect.

- What ? he croaks.

His voice is awful, all rough and raspy, but Prouvaire seems to understand nonetheless.

- Joly called me to tell me you were sick, so I though that I'd bring you some things. He advised me on which drugs to bring you, and I made you some soup.

Montparnasse mulls over the words for a few seconds before it finally dawns on him.

- Soup ? You made me soup ?

- Chicken soup, yes. It should be quite good, but maybe we'll have to heat it again.

Chicken soup ? "We" ? Montparnasse doesn't know what to say to that. Maybe nothing. He's not going to reveal to a handsome almost stranger that he's ridiculously close to crying because no one ever made him soup.

- What time is it ? he asks instead.

He glances at the clock. Is it six o'clock ? It looks like six. Prouvaire confirms it.

- It's time to go home. Come on, I'll walk you there.

Montparnasse wants to say it's okay, he's not that helpless. But it takes an incredible amount of effort just to get upright, and the room starts spinning wildly. Suddenly, Prouvaire is beside him, holding him upright. He smells like flowers and something else, something a bit spicy, but very soft. Above all, he smells good, and Montparnasse doesn't want anything but bury his face in the shirt that looks so soft, and forget about everything.

Another person comes in, and there's a few words exchanged, but he doesn't listen. All that matters now is Prouvaire's arm around his waist, holding him close. Then they're walking towards the door, and they're out. The cold morning air hits his face, blowing away the mist a little.

- Where do you live ? Prouvaire asks.

Montparnasse gives him the address, and they start walking. Prouvaire is still holding onto his waist, the bag hitting his leg on the other side, Montparnasse can hear it. Everything comes to him at the same time, garbled, overwhelming him. Blinding lights, blaring cars passing them, people talking, screaming, people, people... His legs feel like they don't belong to his body, he's perched on those things, far from the ground, and they're moving without his input, just walking and walking and not stopping....

They stop, though, when Prouvaire stops in front of his building. Prouvaire fishes the keys in his pocket as if he's used to it. Montparnasse feels scared for a second ; Prouvaire meeting the others is not a good idea. It's even the worst idea he's ever had. What if he realizes that they are on the bad side of the law and decides to run away ? What if he realizes and the others will gang on him to protect their secrets ? What... if they hurt him ?

Prouvaire must sense that he's tensed, because he smiles down at him.

- Don't worry. I can handle myself.

Montparnasse wants to ask what he's talking about, and if he knows where he's heading, but he refrains. Maybe it's stupid - of course it's stupid - but he doesn't want Prouvaire to go.

Luckily, the flat is empty when they come in - or it seems empty which is as good. Montparnasse shows him the way to his room. He falls on the bed head-first, and it's so comfortable under him that he could sleep there and then. But Prouvaire rolls him on the side, unties his shoes, drops the blankets on him.

- I'll be right back, he says, and he disappears in the hallway.

Montparnasse wants to call after him, to tell him.... something ? To be careful, not to talk to strangers ? Something like that. But Prouvaire has already left. Montparnasse gets rid of his pants, wraps himself in the blankets as tight as he can.

Prouvaire soon comes in, holding two bowls that smell delicious. He sits on the bed, avoiding Montparnasse's feet, and gives him one of the bowls, keeping the other.

- I'm hungry too, he says with a shrug.

Montparnasse is not going to deny him some soup, after all, he made it, he can do whatever he wants with it, as long as he gets a share too. The first spoonful is heavenly, warm and tasty and feeling like velvet and honey on his poor throat. He empties it in record time. Prouvaire then hands him a water bottle and several pills.

- You can trust Joly with remedies, he says. He knows what he’s doing.

At that point, Montparnasse would snort cocaine if it would mean getting rid of the ringing in his head. He doesn’t say so, because Prouvaire would not find it funny. Besides, now that he’s eaten, past week is finally catching with him with bone-crushing exhaustion. He falls down on his pillow, and closes his eyes. He can barely feel the blanket being pulled tight around his shoulders before he’s asleep.

~*~

On Monday, Montparnasse wakes up… not exactly refreshed, but it’s miles above and beyond how he felt on Sunday. His head is still pounding and his throat is dry, but he doesn’t feel like he’s going to break. The blankets are warm, there’s a hint of sunlight through the window, and even better, he doesn’t have to get up to go to work on that awful convenience shop, not now and not ever.

He burrows a bit under the covers, enjoying the warmth lingering there. And freezes when his feet meet something solid that doesn’t have anything to do there. It feels like.... Feet. Warm feet, with legs attached. Someone else is in his bed. Someone is living and in his bed. It’s good, because he didn’t kill someone in his daze and drag them in his bed, which, okay, is a bit far-fetched but still. He can barely recall what happened last night, so murder is not entirely out of the picture. But now that he moves a bit, he notices that there’s something heavy on his waist, and it can’t be his belt because he’s not wearing pants.

Trying to get past the pounding in his head, he recaps : there’s a living person in his bed, said person is currently holding on his waist, and not in a defensive hold, and he’s not wearing pants. Just what exactly happened last night ? He turns around, very slowly, as not to wake the person up, in the event of a danger. The first thing he sees is long hair. Long hair everywhere, shining like metal in the low sunlight. And a freckled face then, with a cute upturned nose, buried in the pillow and a little in his own shoulder. Prouvaire is still asleep, his lashes drawing delicate shadows on his cheeks. Montparnasse is tempted to touch him. Instead, he notices that Prouvaire is not wearing his poofy shirt from yesterday, but a grey, nondescript shirt. Montparnasse recognizes it, it’s part of the « I’ll get rid of those disgraceful items one day if I think about it » pile. Prouvaire probably changed into it before…. Before what ? What did they do, exactly ? Did they have sex ? Or something ? He hopes not. It wouldn’t be the first time he wakes up in a bed not knowing how he got there, or who’s beside him, but… but it’s different. It’s Prouvaire, Prouvaire who seems to have taken residence in his mind, Prouvaire who’s been so nice with him, and Montparnasse wants more of that kindness. He doesn’t want it to just be a fling.

The realisation is crushing, and for a second, he doesn’t know if he should run or wake him up or silently slide out of bed and play it as if it never happens. He should, he should go, or kick him out, and fast, before Prouvaire’s claws sink more into him. He can’t let him in, it’s too dangerous, for the both of them, he’ll hurt him, Prouvaire is too nice and pretty and delicate and good to deserve this, and…

And Prouvaire is moving. Montparnasse barely has the time to recommand his soul to whoever is listening, when Prouvaire opens his eyes and smiles at him. And every resolve Montparnasse may have come to melts like ice under the sun. Those pretty, weird eyes, make him feel.... he can't put words on it. Nervous, with shaky hands, and covered in a cold sweat, but maybe that's just his fever actung up again. But what's not the fever is the feeling that he doesn't want these eyes to look away, ever, or hold him close and... kiss him ? Kiss him, yes. Kiss him senseless.

Prouvaire sits up, and his hair cascads down his back in a way that makes Montparnasse want to slide his fingers through it. The shirt is way too large on him, the collar hanging low. Montparnasse very pointedly doesn't look down, because the clavicles are showing, all dusted in small freckles, and he doesn't know what he's going to do if confronted with the delicate hollow between his clavicles. He's focusing very hard on a patch of wall behind Prouvaire's head, when a hand lands on his forehead.

- Hmm... your fever seems down, Prouvaire remarks. Better take some pills again and eat something, but I think the worst is over.

He produces some pills again and hands him the bottle. As Montparnasse takes them, he gets up and disappears in the hallway without another word. Montparnasse jumps : he can't just up and leaves like that ! He can't exit his life like this, also, the others are still somewhere in the flat. How are they going to react to the presence of some kind of fae person in the kitchen ? Not well. Not well at all.

Prouvaire is already in the kitchen, making some coffee with ease like he's always done it. Things seem to jump at him before he needs to look for them, like they want to please him. Out of the blankets, he looks less ethereal ; then again, anyone would, wearing flower-patterned briefs. Montparnasse's first impression is right, he's made of at least 60% legs, covered in freckles. And a tattoo, he realizes now, a white and orange fish swimming along his calf. There's another one on his arm, only half hidden by the sleeve. Roses surrounded by leaves. The colours are vivid, beautiful, and Montparnasse kind of wants to touch them, feel the skin and the ink under his fingers.

- Coffee is ready, Prouvaire announces.

Montparnasse snaps out of his reverie. Prouvaire is holding a cup out to him, the other in his hand, and Montparnasse wants nothing more than do something right now. But he shivers, and sneezes, several times, very noisily. Immediately, Prouvaire shoos him towards the bed, puts him under the blankets. And exactly as Montparnasse hopes, he sits down beside him. Montparnasse hastily covers both of them with the blankets. Prouvaire smiles at him, and his heart rate shoots up. He grabs the plastic bag still lying hear the bed, and, Montparnasse doesn't know how, produces two still very soft and buttery croissants.

- Would you like to marry me ? he blurts.

Prouvaire doesn't laugh. Montparnasse feels himself blush, he hates it, and very much wants to disappear under the bed. But Prouvaire just smiles at him ; it's very gentle, and very devoid of pity.

- I don't usually marry people I'm not on first name basis with, he answers.

Fuck. That's right. He didn't even think about asking earlier. Then again, he didn't think about Prouvaire being in his bed in the morning (afternoon) either.

- Okay, so... what's your name ? Montparnasse asks.

- I'm Jehan. Jean, in fact, but everyone calls me Jehan.

Jehan Prouvaire. Of course he has a name as beautiful as him.

- And you ? Jehan asks.

Montparnasse hesitates. Should he say it ? He doesn't really want, but Jehan is looking at him, expectantly, and he can't just hold it like that and hope it'll be alright.

- It's Alistair, he finally confesses, and quickly adds : but I don't like it. Not at all.

- Then, I'll call you Montparnasse, if that's okay ?

- Perfect. So, Jehan Prouvaire, would you like to marry me ?

- Maybe we should date a little first, what do you think ?

- I'd love that, Montparnasse says, emotion strangling him a little.

They drink their coffee in silence. Montparnasse is still burning with embarrassment, but Prouvaire doesn't seem bothered by his outburst, or uncomfortable, or anything. Montparnasse decides to try and push his luck. He scoots a little closer, until his arm is pressed against Prouvaire's. Who doesn't shy away, and even... leans closer ? They stay like that for a little while, the warmth of Prouvaire's arm seeping through the hoodie to warm Montparnasse to the core.

- Is it a date ? he asks.

- Do you want it to be a date ?

- Fuck yeah, you bet I want.

Prouvaire smiles and presses a little closer.

- Then it's a date.

Montparnasse feels the biggest, dopiest smile appear on his face. He stretches up a bit, kisses Prouvaire - Jehan - on the cheek. He then sits back, and lays his head on Prouvaire's shoulder. He's acting like a schoolgirl with her first crush, but it's okay. Prouvaire's shoulder is just at the right height, and its owner hasn't run away, instead snuggling - snuggling ! - closer. He thinks about sending flowers to the owner of the convenience shop. Okay, maybe not because the guy is an arsehole, but without him and his stupid scheme, he wouldn't have met Prouvaire. Also he needs to thank Joly, who sent Prouvaire to him, even if he acted so scared by his bout of sickness. And congratulate past him : he was right about being in a teen flick, and it even ended with a happy end and a pretty guy in his bed.

Of course, he knows, like anyone, that meeting the cute person of your dreams is just the beginning. Keeping him is going to take effort. But for him, for that smile, for his presence, Montparnasse is ready to make efforts. Maybe it won't work, maybe Prouvaire will not be the person for him, but he's going to try, and they'll be countless days spent like that, just drinking coffee in lounge clothes, resting against his lover's shoulder, and he doesn't need more. The idea slowly lulls him, and he falls asleep curling against Prouvaire's side, the other man's fingers gently playing with his hair.

#les miserables #jehan prouvaire #montparnasse #jehanparnasse #montprouvaire #here is the happy end !#poor monty I'm so evil #but he deserves it #also happy end

10 notes · View notes

lilyvandersteen · 4 years

Text

Out of the Blue: Chapter 6

Cover art: @redheadgleek

Beta extraordinaire: @hkvoyage

Author’s Note:

I love Model!Klaine, so this chapter is my tribute to that trope :-)

Warning: this chapter might make you hungry if you check out the pictures of the party food.

Chapter 6: A True Chameleon

“But people themselves alter so much, that there is something new to be observed in them forever.”

(An excerpt from Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen)

Kurt looked at the address he’d just written on an envelope and bit his lip.

Would he dare send it or not?

He was veering towards the YES option. After all, Cooper had told him he wanted to be invited to any bash Kurt threw, and Halloween was one of Kurt’s favourite party occasions, so he went all out.

He had a feeling Cooper would appreciate a Kurt Hummel Halloween Extravaganza. Slightly over-the-top and too much seemed to fit the guy to a T.

His mind made up, he shoved the invitation onto the pile and continued writing.

Of course, he had no idea whether Cooper would be able to make it. The guy did a lot of charity work, and in spite of being the CEO of a multimillion dollar firm, he still starred in many ad campaigns, so he had to be fiendishly busy all the time.

But Kurt was in luck. Three days after he’d sent the invitations, he got a call from an unknown number, and for once, it wasn’t a telemarketer but a much more welcome caller.

Cooper! Who promised to come to the party! With his brother in tow again, but hey, maybe the guy would be less grumpy this time around.

But what Cooper said next wiped the grin off Kurt’s face. He planned on buying them a sofa bed as a gift for the party. Yes, he was rich, but that was completely ridiculous and way too much.

Now that Kurt had actually met Cooper and talked with him, he liked the guy. Not because of his looks or his money, but because he was good-natured and personable and interesting to talk to. Plus, it wasn’t just on the surface. Yes, he was full of compliments and a first-class charmer, but more than that, he seemed to go out of his way to help people and cheer them up and devise solutions to all sorts of problems. Another point in his favour was that he wasn’t uppity in the least, unlike his brother.

Because of all that, it didn’t sit right with Kurt to profit off his friendship with Cooper, and he told the man so.

Cooper proved stubborn about it, however, and by the time he rang off, the delivery of the sofa had been planned for that Wednesday, with Cooper overseeing the installation and making sure the delivery men had brought the exact one he ordered.

Kurt took a few minutes to collect himself before he went to the living room to brief Rachel and Santana.

Unlike him, they had no qualms about accepting extravagant gifts from Cooper, and whooped gleefully about the sofa bed.

“And he asked for pumpkin pie, so I’ll add that to the snacks I was planning,” Kurt said. “You can nibble on anything else beforehand, ‘cause I’m making plenty, but don’t you dare touch the pumpkin pie!”

“Oh, are you making those ghost sugar cookies again? Britt loves those!”

Kurt nodded. “Yep. The other desserts are a coffin cake, Dracula dentures, blood drip cupcakes and now pumpkin pie as well.”

“Anything vegan?”

Kurt hummed, thinking fast. “I planned on making black bean hummus, because Elliott loves that. I could also make stuffed mushrooms, those choco bites you like, and your special pumpkin cupcakes, maybe? And a skeleton crudité with a vegan dip, like last year? Only I’d expect you to actually HELP this time around instead of leaving it all to me.”

Rachel swore to help, glaring at Santana, who made no such promise to Kurt.

“You’ll be making your graveyard chicken enchilada dip again?” Kurt asked Santana, who nodded lazily, grinning at Rachel, and said, “And hot pepper mummies.”

“Good,” said Kurt. “Then with the ghost pizza bites, the mummy meatballs, the puff pastry eyeballs and a parmesan breadstick spider with lots of extra legs, we’re all set.”

Kurt put their old sofa on a second-hand sales website and arranged for it to be picked up on Wednesday at noon.

“You better hope Cooper turns up with that new sofa, or I’ll bunk in your bed tonight!” Santana said before she left for work.

Kurt bit his lip, and hoped that Cooper would be as good as his word.

After the old sofa had been picked up, Kurt cleaned the whole loft and made as much room as he could for the delivery men to maneuver. Then he made himself a quick lunch and ate it.

He didn’t want to sit around doing nothing until Cooper showed up, so he got started on the sugar cookie dough for the Halloween party. He’d just put it in the fridge when he heard knocking.

Quickly, he took off his apron, checked his clothes for flour stains, and then went to open the door.

There stood Cooper, with next to him a cute and smartly dressed curly-head, who was wearing a bow tie with ducks on it and announced that Kurt’s delivery was here. His accompanying smile dazzled Kurt, who could muster up no more than a rote answer, and led everyone inside.

Two delivery men installed the sofa, and then left. The cutie with the duck bow tie did not leave with them. He stayed around to explain to Kurt how the mechanism worked to turn the sofa into a bed.

Kurt truly appreciated the cutie running him through it, because it was far from simple, and it might have taken him a while to figure it out by himself, so he made sure to thank him after the explanation.

The cutie didn’t seemed pleased, though. Was he expecting a tip? Oh help, Kurt had been grocery-shopping for the party and had no cash left! Would he dare offer the guy some of Rachel’s vegan choco balls instead of money?

And then Cooper put his arm around the cutie’s shoulder and grinned at Kurt. “My little bro knows his stuff, doesn’t he?”

Kurt took another look at the cutie. Was this the same guy Cooper had brought to the wedding? It couldn’t be, could it? This cutie was all smiles and cheery colours and fun socks and wild curly hair. It had to be another brother than the stiff and starched one with the gelmet that had come to the wedding. Right?

Cooper clearly seemed to expect a response, so Kurt, floundering, asked whether the cutie worked in the sofa business.

It must have sounded as inane as it felt to Kurt. The cutie frowned in confusion and then told Kurt he was studying music at NYU.

So he’s musical too? Nice!

Kurt needed no more than that to strike up a conversation about Broadway plays, and had all but forgotten Cooper when he butted in to offer Kurt a modelling gig in his newest ad campaign.

Wow! But am I handsome enough for that?

When he voiced his concerns, both brothers were quick to reassure him that he was stunning.

The curly cutie had been flirting rather heavily with Kurt, so him alone, Kurt wouldn’t have believed, but he did believe Cooper, and readily agreed to work for him as a model. The cutie seemed happy about that, telling Kurt he’d be working on the same campaign.

Cooper and the cutie left with twin smiles on their faces and a promise to be there at 8 p.m. on Friday.

“Looking forward to the pumpkin pie already!” Cooper said. “Your cooking is stellar!”

Next to him, the cutie nodded emphatically and echoed “Stellar”, before turning around and following his brother.

Huh? Cooper hadn’t taken any wedding cake home, had he? So how would the cutie know Kurt was a good cook? Did that mean this WAS the same guy who had come to the wedding? What was his name again? Something with a B, right?

Kurt, feeling more puzzled than ever now, watched them go down the stairs, noting absently that the cutie had a lovely backside. Then he roused himself from his fit of abstraction, shrugged and slid the door closed.

It didn’t matter. Whoever it was would be coming to the party on Friday, and Kurt planned on finding out the guy’s name, and whether a churlish disposition or a sunny one was his default.

K&B

The following days were filled with classes and shifts at the diner and lots of cooking and baking whenever he was at home. The fridge and freezer were full to overflowing with snacks and desserts for the party.

Kurt let his roommates try everything, but made sure to keep reminding them that the pumpkin pie was off limits. He’d made two pies, just in case one didn’t turn out right, but both seemed okay, and he was pleased that he could offer Cooper at least something in return for his generosity.

Santana loved sleeping on the new sofa bed, and everyone loved sitting on it to watch television. Kurt had bought a water-resistant cover for the sofa to avoid it getting stained again, and a few cushions in bright colours to liven it up, and he quite liked how the living room looked now.

When Friday evening arrived, the loft was ready for a party. Rachel and Sam had put the decorations up under Kurt’s supervision, Britt had frosted and decorated tons of sugar cookies and cupcakes, Mercedes had helped Kurt with the last of the cooking and baking, and Santana had filled jugs with bright green, orange and red drinks she had mixed. A banner above the jugs invited party-goers to “choose their poison”.

Now Kurt was humming happily as he put his wig and then his helmet on, psyched for the party. Halloween was so much fun!

Half an hour later, the party was in full swing, and Kurt was sitting on the sofa and sipping one of Santana’s very strong drinks when Rachel came their way with Cooper in tow.

Cooper was holding a shiny top hat and wearing an embroidered white waistcoat, a black tailcoat, light grey trousers and high black boots. He looked amazing.

Kurt vaguely heard Santana banter with their guest, but didn’t pay much attention to what either of them said, because Cooper dressed up like that was a sight to see. The man was impossibly handsome.

All of a sudden, Cooper started to sing. Huh? What was going on?

And then it dawned on Kurt that Cooper had brought his brother with him again, who was dressed as Gaston from The Beauty and the Beast. They were singing the Gaston song together, and very well, too.

Kurt took in ‘Gaston’. Same stature as the curly cutie, same 1000 Watt smile too. But wow, those biceps! And wow, those thighs! And what a tiny waist he had, emphasized by the belt he wore…

“You’re drooling!” Santana hissed in his ear, and Kurt closed his mouth with a snap and glared at her.

Rachel took the Anderson brothers’ song as an invitation to start the karaoke part of the evening, and Kurt sighed. Another bet lost. He really shouldn’t bet with Santana anymore. She seemed to be psychic.

He forgot all about that, though, as soon as he was on stage singing For Good with Rachel.

The rest of the night passed in a blur. Kurt may have drunk a few too many of those strong drinks Santana had mixed, and eaten too few of the mountains of snacks he’d prepared. Whatever it was, it made him wake up the next day with a pounding head and a tongue that felt like sandpaper, and no recollection of the party whatsoever.

He yawned and stretched and walked to the kitchen, where he inspected the remains of the party food in the fridge. Ha, there was still some pumpkin pie left!

He plonked down on a chair next to Santana, who was staring into a mug of coffee as if it held all the secrets of the universe.

“Those drinks of yours were a little too strong,” Kurt said, tucking into the pie.

Santana groaned. “I know. How can you eat when you’re hungover? I can’t even look at food right now!”

Kurt shrugged. “I’m hungry. Hey, did Cooper eat some pumpkin pie yesterday? I can’t remember.”

Santana’s head snapped up. “Of course you can’t! You only had eyes for his brother yesterday.”

Kurt stared at her dumbly.

“Blaine! You spent half of the party dancing with him. No more than that, though. I kept hoping you’d at least make out sloppily, or drag him to your bed, but you kept it PG. Boring.”

So his name was Blaine. Right. And apparently, they’d been dancing?

Kurt heaved a sigh of relief that no more than that had happened. He so didn’t want to have his first time kissing or having sex while he was drunk.

Plus, it would make the modelling gig scheduled for next Wednesday awkward. If he remembered correctly, Blaine had said he’d be working on it too. As the photographer maybe? Or arranging the shoot?

K&B

That Wednesday, when Kurt arrived at the address Cooper had given him, he couldn’t help staring. Somehow, they’d managed to turn an industrial building in NYC into a ranch. There was real grass on the floor. There was a cosy-looking farm house with a two-seater swing on the porch. And the ranch came with cows and calves, as well as horses and their handlers. The noise was deafening, and the chaos overwhelming.

Kurt hoped he could find either Cooper or Blaine soonish, because he felt so much like a fish out of water here in this big warehouse that buzzed with activity.

“Hey Kurt!”

Wait, I know that voice… That’s Blaine, right? Oh, good!

Kurt turned around, expecting to see Blaine in a cute vest and bowtie outfit like he’d worn to bring the sofa bed, and his eyes went wide with disbelief. Just how much of a chameleon was Blaine? He’d looked stiff and starched at Brittana’s wedding, cute and adorable while explaining how the sofa bed worked, hot and manly in his Gaston costume (unf, those arms!), but this was yet another side of him. A drop-dead gorgeous and sexy side.

Blaine’s curls were glossy and luscious, styled to frame his face beautifully. He wore a tiny bit of eyeshadow and eyeliner, just enough to make his eyes look really green. His lashes seemed longer and fuller than ever, and his lips the plumpest and most inviting Kurt had seen them yet.

He wore a tightly fitting T-shirt that accentuated his muscular arms, and jeans that hugged his legs in a way that made Kurt’s brain short-circuit.

“Come, let’s get you to our stylist and then to hair and make-up so that we can start shooting,” Blaine said, grabbing Kurt’s hand and tugging him along. “This way. I know a shortcut. This shoot is going to be so awesome. We get to ride a horse, isn’t that great?”

Kurt, still reeling from how sexy Blaine looked and how it affected him, frowned in confusion.

“You’re a model, too?”

It slipped out before Kurt could stop the words, and he hated himself for blurting that out when he saw Blaine’s face fall.

“Not that you’re not… handsome enough or something. I mean, obviously, you are… I just thought you’d be the director or photographer or something… More… in charge, you know? Seeing as you’re Cooper’s brother and all.”

Blaine’s expression became stony, and he dropped Kurt’s hand like it had burned him, leaving Kurt to hurry after him so as not to get lost.

Kurt felt the hair on his arms prickle uncomfortably, and he rambled on. “Ugh, I’m sorry, that came out all wrong. Once I start putting my foot in it, I keep making things worse. So, you’re a model, too. That’s great. Really great.”

“Isn’t it just?” Cooper boomed, appearing out of nowhere and clapping Kurt on the shoulder. “Yes, Blaine often helps me direct, and he’s photographed a few shoots, too. But for this, I needed him to model. I mean, look at how he fills out that pair of jeans!”

Cooper made Blaine turn around so that Kurt could admire his backside, which he did with bad grace, his eyes shooting daggers at his brother. But wow, yes, Cooper had a point there. Kurt had difficulty tearing his eyes away from that delectable view to focus on what Cooper said next.

“Pair that with Blaine’s curls and lashes, and his million-dollar smile – give me the smile, squirt! – and you got one killer combination. Yep, Blaine will definitely be the main poster boy for this campaign.”

Kurt nodded. “I can see why.”

Blaine rolled his eyes and said to a guy rolling a rack of clothes around, “Kyle, this is the new model Cooper selected. Get him the dark wash jeans, a blue shirt and a cowboy hat. Tell Reena to leave his hair as is. She just needs to accentuate his eyes.”

“Maybe give him a bit of a tan?” Cooper suggested, but Blaine shot him another glare and bit at the stylist, “No tan.”

“Gotcha,” said Kyle cheerfully. He looked Kurt up and down, raffled through the clothes on the rack and then thrust a pair of jeans and a shirt into Kurt’s hands. “The hats are still boxed up, hang on…”

Kurt looked at the clothes he’d been given, and turned to Cooper. “So where do I… Is there a changing room?”

A snort came from behind him. He didn’t know whether it had come from Kyle or from Blaine, but it made his cheeks glow with embarrassment.

Cooper shook his head. “Nope, no changing room. You’re supposed to change right here. I promise everyone here is professional and won’t stare.”

Kurt looked down. “All… all right then.”

In his haste to get the jeans and shirt on quickly, he was clumsier than usual, nearly falling face first onto the floor while putting the pants on.

An arm wound around his middle to stop him from face-planting.

“There’s no hurry,” Blaine assured him. “Sam and Puck haven’t even arrived yet.”

Kurt whirled around. “What? Are they modelling today too?”

Blaine grinned and nodded. “You have to admit Sam makes sense as a cowboy. And Cooper liked the look of Puck as well.”

Kurt deflated a little. He’d thought that the fact Cooper chose him for this campaign meant something, but clearly, it didn’t, seeing as Cooper had asked any friend of Kurt’s that fit the profile. So much for being stunning.

As soon as Kurt was dressed and his make-up had been done, Blaine took him to meet the horses and cattle and their handlers.

“We’re going to do a few scenes where we look like we’re herding cattle, then a few on the porch, where we’ll be eating and playing guitar, and then a few at the bar, that’s over there,” Blaine explained.

Soon after, Sam and Puck arrived, and the shoot started.

It should have been plain sailing. When he was eight, Kurt had begged Burt for horse-riding lessons. He’d been the only boy, like in his ballet classes, but he’d loved the lessons nonetheless, and had become quite a proficient rider. The horses used for the shoot were docile, as were the cattle, and keeping them in line should have been a piece of cake.

Somehow, though, Kurt kept hitting snags. When he got on the horse that had been assigned to him, the saddle proved to be loose, sliding off and making Kurt look like he couldn’t even mount a horse properly.

Cursing under his breath, he fastened the saddle, and at the same time, he fixed the stirrup straps, which seemed to have been arranged to fit a child, or a very short man. That would have made him look like an idiot again. Had this been done on purpose?

He put it from his mind, focusing on gently guiding his horse and following Cooper’s instructions. Just when the horse had gotten used to him, something odd happened again.

There was a sudden explosion, deafening and bright, right in front of Kurt. His horse reared and then bolted, racing through the warehouse. Kurt had to use his entire body to steer the panicked animal away from people and cattle and camera equipment, while doing his utmost to calm it and not fall off.

By the time the horse slowed down and quieted, Kurt was exhausted, and his heart was beating out a drum solo.

Blaine helped him off the horse, looking stern.

“I don’t know what happened,” Kurt panted. “Was that a lamp that exploded?”

Blaine’s expression became even grimmer. “I’ll look into it.”

Tears pricked at Kurt’s eyes, and he had to work hard to keep them in. Now he’d probably ruined his chances of ever being in an Anderson ad campaign again – and through no fault of his own!

They picnicked on the porch, and then Sam and Blaine and Puck all started playing the guitar, and everyone sang along, which was fun.

The last scenes were in the bar, and seeing as Cooper offered them real alcohol to drink, it didn’t take Puck long to become obnoxious.

“Some cowboy you are. Can’t get on your horse, can’t keep it under control, and you scatter the cattle instead of herding them. How on earth did you even land this job?”

Kurt gritted his teeth and turned to a couple of guys who were practicing with a lasso as a game. “Can I borrow that for a minute?”

Kurt looked at the empty bottle they’d been aiming at and estimated the distance. Easy peasy.

He threw the lasso, and it landed neatly around the bottle.

The men cheered, and Kurt turned to Puck. “That’s how.”

Sam clapped him on the back, hollering, “That’s my boy!”

Even Puck whistled and said, “Neat!”

The only one who glowered when Kurt caught his eye was Blaine.

And then Kurt remembered that they were filming a scene for a commercial. And what he’d done had certainly NOT been in the script.

Uh-oh, messed up again! Stupid Puck!

But Cooper shouted, “Cut! That’s a wrap!” and came to Kurt to congratulate him for ending the story in such a powerful way. “This is just perfect! Well done!”

Phew! Thank heavens Cooper isn’t such a stick in the mud like his brother…

K&B

When Kurt saw the commercial on TV a few months later, he smiled. Somehow, Cooper had cut the footage in a way that made Kurt look good instead of clumsy, weaving through the cattle and other horses like he was born to do it, and the scene where he shut up Puck was the icing on the cake. Now that he got to look at it from another point of view, he noticed that Blaine wasn’t glaring at him but at Puck. Probably miffed about something else then, not about Kurt straying from the script. Good.

The check Kurt had gotten for being in the commercial and posing for pictures afterwards had been bigger than he’d expected. He would have no trouble paying his share of the rent for months to come. And Cooper had promised he’d get in touch if he had another commercial Kurt would be perfect for.

Yes, Brittany inviting Cooper to her fake wedding had been one of her more brilliant ideas, to be sure.

#bbb2020 #blaine big bang 2020 #klaine fanfiction #my fic #out of the blue

3 notes · View notes

ineffable--omens · 6 years

Text

Dream Daddy Secret Santa

This is for @kuzeykirkland, hope you have a very happy holiday season! (alt link)

Lost and Found

Mat x Brian Steampunk AU

Mat walked through the calm streets of Maple Bay. He looked up and saw large airships chug across the sky between thick plumes of gray smoke. The street was quiet, save for the familiar sound of clicking gears and a whistle from some distant steam machine, and Mat was thankful. The hustle and bustle of running a place like the Brass Spoon can be exhausting. If he had one more person leave crumbs all over his nice tables, or, god forbid, try to hold a conversation with him while he was handling a tray with multiple cups of scorching hot liquid-- Mat sighed. He could barely hold a conversation without balancing armfuls of heated drinks sometimes, and what kind of slob leaves a half-eaten tartelette between chair cushions? If it wasn’t for these afternoon walks, Mat might just go mad.

He hummed to himself as he continued his walk, some song from an obscure band that played at the Sound Garden a few weeks ago. This is nice, he thought. Stretching my legs, getting some fresh air… He glanced at the smokestacks looming above the city and frowned. Well, as close as you can get to fresh air. He eyed the dark fumes hovering above the rooftops and felt the urge to cough.

I feel like I’m the only one in this city who can’t stand all the smog and steam.

“Mat!” boomed a voice from down the street, jolting him out of his thoughts. Mat squinted and spied Hugo strolling down the cobbled road.

“Hello, Hugo!” Mat called, waving back. “How’ve you been?” Hugo crossed over to him and gave an enthusiastic clap on the shoulder, knocking Mat off balance more than he’d like to admit. Hugo wore a tawny twill vest over a cream colored shirt, coupled with dark brown pants and a nifty bowler hat.

“I’ve been well,” Hugo replied, holding up a cloth sack. “I bought some nice looking brie from the market and more than half the class actually read the assigned chapter of Copper Bones and Steel last night.”

“That’s great,” Mat said. “Carmensita is reading one of the Wheelwright classics for her class and she loves it. I get a line-by-line analysis of that day’s section over dinner.”

Hugo chuckled, “Glad to hear it. Next time you get a chance, tell her that a great way to annoy her teacher is to insist that Theodore is actually Professor Raven’s long lost son.”

“I have no idea what that means but I’ll let her know,” Mat laughed. “How’s Earnest?”

“Oh, the usual. He got in trouble the other day for lighting his homework on fire behind the school. Tried to say his teacher wouldn’t believe him otherwise. He was also apparently offering to burn his classmate’s homework as well in exchange for one of those new locket bobbles.”

“The Clockwork Hearts?”

“Yeah, you know them?”

“I actually bought one for myself the other day. It’s weird, you go to the shop, they take you into a backroom and have you write down three true loves, two deep fears, and they take one drop of blood. After that they supposedly mix it together and give you a locket imbued with your essence.” Mat held up his hand and wiggled his fingers for emphasis.

“Hm, seems a bit odd,” murmured Hugo. “Is it worth getting?” Mat shrugged.

“Yeah,” he said, “I actually like it. It helps with my anxiety a bit, somehow, even if it’s just a scam.” Mat reached into his coat pocket to so he could show Hugo the locket, and fished around for a few seconds before frantically checking his other pockets.

“It’s gone.” Mat groaned. “Yep, gone. Damn. I only got it a few days ago.”

“That’s not good,” said Hugo. “Can I help you look? It must be around here somewhere.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think I have time. We’re hosting an open mic tonight and I need to get back to set up for it. Chances are I left it at home anyway. Will I see you at the show?”

“Depends, are you playing?”

“Well, I- um..”

“I’m just messing with you. You know I’d love to hear you play, but it really depends on whether I think I can leave Earnest home tonight and expect the house to be standing when I return.”

“Oh, alright,” Mat replied. “I hope to see you there, but have a good evening regardless.”

“Thanks, Mat. You too.”

Mat hurried down the street towards the Brass Spoon. His mind was racing with the preparations he still needed to finish, and although he know that his Clockwork Heart was probably just an overpriced pocket watch, he felt a little empty without it.

Brian strolled down a candle-lit street, at ease in the evening dimness. He wore a crisp white button-up and crimson trousers under a long overcoat with silver buttons. He had also donned a rather dashing feathered top hat, or at least he thought so. As he mindlessly scratched at his beard, a glint of light caught the corner of his eye. He turned and saw a small heart-shaped locket on a silver chain resting on the cobblestone street. Brian paused, quickly looked down the lonely street to see if it’s owner might be nearby, and decided that whoever lost it must be long gone. He picked up the locket and squinted at it. He knew that he shouldn’t take it, but he also didn’t want to just leave the locket there, abandoned. After a minute, he placed it in his pocket. Maybe someone at the open mic will recognize it, he thought. As he continued on his path underneath the glowing street lanterns, he pondered who it might belong to. One of his neighbors? A hurried duchess leaving her forlorn husband? He made up elaborate fantasies as he walked. A clumsy pickpocket who was caught and ditched the evidence, or a lover who uncovered a marital affair and couldn’t bear to keep the locket, which had been a gift from their cheating spouse. Maybe the owner is a dashing prince who would sweep Brian off his feet. Brian chuckled. Whoever the mysterious owner was, Brian hoped he could meet them.

Brian pushed open the door to the Brass Spoon and was greeted with the sight of a hearty crowd. He spotted a few of his neighbors around the tavern, like Joseph and his herd of children in matching waistcoats, and Lucien with a group of his friends crowded at a corner table. Across the room he noticed Amanda and her father- what was his name again?- sparring with their forks over a bowl of chips and melted cheese. Brian smirked at his poor technique, he should know not to relax his wrist. He walked over to an empty seat at the counter. Pablo strutted over to him grinning, his seafoam green hair tied back in a high bun.

“What’s up, Brian!”

“Good to see you, Pablo,” Brian responded cheerfully. “I’ll have a green tea if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Sure thing,” Pablo replied. “Glad you can bend an elbow. How’s Daisy?”

“She’s great. She just designed a self-imploding lock in tinkering class.”

“A what now?” asked Pablo as he poured fresh tea into a cup.

“It’s a lock that melts its insides after a failed attempt at unlocking it. Renders any lockpicking useless. She got an A+ for the project and a company has offered to buy her blueprints.” Pablo slid the warm cup across the counter to Brian.

“That’s pretty sweet.”

“Yeah, I’m proud of her.”

The other patrons began to cheer and Brian turned his head to see Mat walking onto the small stage in the back of the tavern. He wore a simple suit with embroidered shoes, and his hair had that messy, I-didn’t-have-time-to-style-it-but-I-still-look-good kind of look that Brian found himself really liking.

“Welcome to the Brass Spoon open mic, everybody!” said Mat. Brian felt the locket grow warm in his pocket. He fished it out of his pocket and held it in front of his face. Maybe it was just the glint of the lights but he could swear it had started to glow.

“We’re so glad to have you all here tonight. We have some pretty great people performing, so I hope you’re all excited. At least, I think they’re pretty great, and all of them are cool people so I think you should be excited.” Mat stuttered and tugged on the bottom of his jacket. “But I can’t control you so if you’re not, um, well, I think this intro has gone on way too long so I’m gonna introduce the first act. Please welcome Cecilia to the stage, who will be performing an original piece on her flute.” The audience clapped and Mat walked off stage as Cecelia unpacked her instrument from its case. Brian saw that Mat’s cheeks were bright red, and he sympathised with Mat’s struggle of being up on stage and not knowing what to say. Still, it was kind of adorable.

The lineup consisted of Cecilia, two kids who performed a singing duet, a “retro-steamwave” pianist, lackluster stand-up comedy from one of Lucien’s friends, and a small set by a local rock band. After they concluded their last song with a rousing D chord, Mat returned to the stage to end the night.

“Thank you, Gears For Fears, for that fantastic performance. Make sure you check out their new album, they’ll be selling some copies at the door. That brings an end to our night, everybody, thank you all so much for coming-”

“What about you, Mat?” rang Pablo’s voice from behind the counter. A chorus of echoes rose from the crowd. Mat winced and said, “Oh, I’m sure you all don’t need that…” Amanda started a whisper chant and the audience joined in until the room was bursting with, “Mat, Mat, Mat…” cheering for him to perform. Brian smiled and clapped along, but paused when he felt the locket turn ice cold. Mat forced a smile and raised his hands in defeat.

“You all are lucky I’m so susceptible to peer pressure.” The crowd laughed and Pablo raced up to the stage to hand him an acoustic guitar. As Mat slung the guitar strap over his shoulders, Brian noticed that he was fumbling with his positioning and wiping sweat off his forehead. He frowned and ran his thumb over locket’s clammy metal surface. Despite his anxiety, Mat sat down, took a deep breath, and began to play. The song was breathtakingly beautiful, wrought with passion and gentleness. Although there were no words, Brian knew it was a love song. The locket began to pulse with warmth in his hand. Brian was captivated by the music, but more so by the man playing it.

It wasn’t his first time performing in front of a crowd since Rosa passed, but it never seemed to get easier. Mat finished the song with a slow pick up the strings and the crowd erupted in a standing ovation. He fought every instinct he had to not bolt off stage, but somehow managed to thank the crowd and even remind them to check out the album selling at the door. After a few minutes of recuperating in the back, he finally reentered the room and and tried to quietly slip behind the counter. Mindless work like dishwashing was a great break from all the talking and performing, and there was a generous heap of dirty plates and cups that would gladly provide that relief. Mat grabbed soap and a rag and started scrubbing. He heard a voice from behind him,

“Excuse me, sir?”

Mat set down the plate and rag, dried his hands, and turned to tend to his customer. He locked eyes with a large, full-bearded man warmly smiling at him from the other side of the counter. Mat gulped.

Oh god.

He’s hot.

The man waved him over and Mat realized he had frozen up staring at him. His legs carried him over to the counter and he tried to casually smile and adjust his messy hair.

“Why, good evening, sir. How can I help you?”

“I just wanted to tell you I really enjoyed the open mic. Especially your performance, it was stunning.” Mat blushed.

“I appreciate that, thank you.”

“You wrote that song yourself, right? It was incredible. What inspired it?”

“Well, um, it was about love. And, also the feeling of missing being in love.” Mat paused and tried to read the man’s reaction, but ended up just staring into his eyes for a few seconds and awkwardly looking away. Damn it, Mat, play cool. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been in a relationship.” The man grinned,

“No way!”

“What?”

“I don’t believe that after seeing you and hearing you play. Surely everyone is dying to be with you.”

Mat just stared.

“I know that I wouldn’t pass up an opportunity like that.”

Mat squinted in mild confusion.

“After all,” the man smirked, “how could anyone resist someone so good with their hands?”

Mat’s eyes widened as he finally realized what was going on.

“Oh! Um, yeah I guess,” he stuttered, blushing even harder. Damn it, Mat. He tried to casually lean on the counter and look like those sexy men in the movies. “I mean, we close in 20 minutes but I think I could make an exception for a hot dude with a great beard and gorgeous eyes. Especially a hot dude who’s interested in my hands. Want to stick around?”

“Sounds like a plan.” the man laughed. “This dude’s name is Brian by the way,” he reached in his pocket, “and I think this belongs to you.” Brian held out an open hand with Mat’s Clockwork Heart. Mat stared at it in disbelief. He looked at the locket, then at Brian, and back at the locket before slowly reaching for it. He grabbed it and let his hand linger before pulling it back quickly.

“Wow. Thank you.” Mat smiled at Brian and returned to the sink, heart racing, trying to hurry through the heap of dirty dishes. The Brass Spoon was nearly empty but it might as well have been the lunch rush. He couldn’t stop thinking about who was sitting just a few feet away, and the gift that had just been returned to him resting around his neck. He had returned the locket, but Brian still had Mat’s heart, and Mat hoped he might have it for a long time.

@ddaddsss

#dream daddy #ddadds #brian harding #mat sella #fanfic #Brian x mat #ddaddsss-2017 #ddaddsss2017

7 notes · View notes

lilyvandersteen · 7 years

Text

Happy Accidents

I started this story for a fandom friend who has her birthday in October, but as usual I’m so slow that I’m posting this weeks too late... So I’m going to dedicate this to all the October Gleeks. Here’s a fluffy coffee shop AU for you. Enjoy!

Prompt: Blaine, who is going to the same coffee shop every morning, at the same time for his morning fuel, is confused. At the coffee shop, he often sees the same faces - of the other regulars. There is one particular face he looks forward to seeing though, but Blaine is just not sure if the face belongs to one or two men (twins). Kurt has shared custody of his kid. The weeks when he is dad he dresses one way, the other weeks he is more sharply dressed.

“A Venti Freshly Brewed Coffee for… Blaine?”

Blaine looked away from the gorgeous man he’d been admiring the profile of and hastened to the counter for his drink. “Thank you, Carmen!”

Carmen looked surprised that he’d made the effort to check her name tag and address her by her name, but as soon as it sank in, she beamed at him and wished him a good day.

“Same to you, Carmen!”

Blaine smiled at her and turned around, nearly bumping into Mr. Gorgeous. “Oops, sorry!”

Oh, would you look at those eyes!

“No harm done,” Mr Gorgeous chuckled. “And even if it had, what I’m wearing is stain-proof.”

He pointed to his black windbreaker and dark blue jeans.

“True,” Blaine answered absently, trying not to ogle the man too much – wow, he was stunning!

The man chuckled again, winked at him and moved out of his way.

Blaine looked over his shoulder, noting that the back view was just as nice. He took a sip of his coffee, checked his watch and then hurried to his dance class.

The beautiful stranger stayed on his mind the entire day, and he could only hope he’d see him again at Starbucks.

Luck was on his side. The next day, while he was queuing for his daily caffeine fix, Mr. Gorgeous came in, talking on the phone and seeming rather frazzled. He gestured wildly as he argued with whoever was on the line with him, and his face fell as he took in the long queue.

“Yes?” asked the barista. It was Blaine’s turn to order.

“A Grande White Chocolate Mocha please. Oh… Actually, make that two.”

“Name?”

“Blaine.”

“Coming right up. That’ll be8.90 please.”

Blaine handed the cashier ten dollars and told him to keep the change, and then moved aside to wait for his order to be made. Mr. Gorgeous was getting more and more agitated. Things were clearly not going his way.

“Two Grande White Chocolate Mochas for… Blaine?”

“That’s me! Thank you, Carmen!”

Carmen beamed at him and put both drinks in a carry tray before he could even ask.

Blaine turned around and saw Mr. Gorgeous stalk out of the coffee shop with long strides, his expression murderous.

Oh no, don’t disappear on me now!

Blaine hurried after Mr. Gorgeous, and tapped him on the shoulder.

“What?!” the man snapped.

“You look like you could really use some caffeine, so I got you this,” Blaine said, handing him the mocha. “I hope it makes your day at least a little better.”

Mr. Gorgeous gaped at him, and Blaine, who now felt a bit embarrassed about his impulsive action, waved awkwardly and sped off.

The next days, he didn’t spot his crush anywhere near the coffee shop.

He probably switched to another one to avoid stalkers like you, Anderson. What weirdo would buy a coffee for someone he’s only spoken to once?

On Friday, though, the man was back. Thankfully, he didn’t notice Blaine, who slinked away with his coffee as fast as he could.

During the weekend, Blaine stayed in, writing essays, rehearsing the dance moves he’d learnt that week and practising a Shakespeare skit with two classmates.

By Monday, he was craving coffee, but he was running late, so he flat-out ran to the coffee shop to get his fix before his dance class.

“Watch it!” a panicky voice warned him, and he just barely dodged the man and the two beverages he was holding as far away from his clothes as he could.

Wait a second, wasn’t that Mr Gorgeous?

He stopped short and turned around, eyes wide. No, surely that couldn’t be the guy from last week? This man was wearing a gorgeous Marc Jacobs jacket, a shimmery grey waistcoat underneath, pinstriped pants from Gucci’s new collection, Saint Laurent boots and a Hermès scarf. He looked like he’d just stepped out of Vogue magazine.

Mr Gorgeous, in spite of his lovely tush and beautiful eyes, would look like a slob next to this man. But they definitely looked alike.

Brothers? Twins?

The man seemed amused by Blaine’s open-mouthed admiration, and winked at him before turning around and walking away.

Blaine stared after him for a minute, and then he remembered the time, yelped and sprinted to school, seeing as he was now more than fashionably late. No time for coffee. That would have to wait until after his dance class.

The following days, Blaine saw the fashionably dressed guy every time he went to Starbucks. He started calling him Mr Top Model in his head, and every day, he drank in the sight of him greedily. The man had the same voice as Mr Gorgeous, high and clear, and always ordered two drinks. One for him and one for his partner? Blaine didn’t know, and it bugged him. He did notice, though, that neither of the two drinks was Venti-sized, as Mr Gorgeous’ coffee order was.

Hmm… Probably twins, then.

Tina came to visit him for the weekend. They went shopping, and on Saturday night, they went clubbing. Blaine almost choked on his drink when he noticed Mr Top Model on the dance floor with two women, twirling them around and giggling when they jokingly grinded against him.

“He’s hot!” Tina whispered in Blaine’s ear, and that startled him so much that he spilled half of his drink on his shirt.

Tina took the glass from his hand. “You should go and dance with him. Go!”

Blaine bit his lip. “But he’s here with them!”

Tina shrugged. “So? Show him your moves!”

Blaine slid off his bar stool and headed towards the dance floor, never once losing sight of Mr Top Model, but he was out of luck. Just when he’d reached the guy and was opening his mouth to ask him to dance, one of the women tugged at the man’s sleeve and shouted, “Let’s go home. I’m tired, and these shoes are killing me.”

She grabbed Mr Top Model’s hand and tugged him away, yelling, “Santana! Come on, let’s go!”

They passed Blaine, and the man noticed him, raised his eyebrows and then smiled.

Blaine automatically smiled back, in spite of his disappointment, and drooped off to Tina.

“They were leaving. Want to go home too?”

Tina frowned. “What? No! We’ve only just arrived. We haven’t even danced yet! Come on, you’re dancing with me!”

Sunday passed in a haze of tiredness, and by the time Blaine had seen Tina off at the train station, he was dragging his feet and in dire need of some caffeine, so he headed to his usual coffee shop.

Carmen smiled at him as she handed him his drink. “Rough day?”

“Hmm… Nothing coffee can’t fix. Thank you, Carmen!”

He turned around quickly to hurry back to his dorm and get some schoolwork done, but was stopped by someone putting his hands on his arms. “Careful, there. Watch where you’re going.”

It was Mr Top Model, and he’d almost bumped into him again.

“Sorry!” Blaine squeaked, and he ran off, mortified.

Behind him, he heard the man chuckle.

The next week, he saw hide nor hair of Mr Top Model, but Mr Gorgeous had turned up again, smiling at Blaine whenever he saw him, and Blaine happily basked in those smiles and tried to work up the courage to talk to him.

That Saturday, the weather was so uncommonly sunny for an autumn day that Blaine just couldn’t stay cooped up inside. He made himself a picnic and headed to Central Park, his guitar on his back, looking for a nice sunny spot to sit.

He’d just finished eating and was putting the lids on the containers again and stacking them in his bag when something hit his back.

“Oomph…”

“Oh my goodness, sorry!!”

The voice sounded familiar, and yes, when he turned around, he saw Mr Gorgeous, who was now reprimanding a baby that had the same gorgeous glasz eyes and the same glare as his daddy.

“I’m so sorry,” Mr Gorgeous said to Blaine, hunkering down to pick up the wooden block the child had thrown away. “He’s a bit frustrated that the blocks don’t fit everywhere. Not very patient. He gets that from me. Though I’ve gotten a little better at controlling my temper, over the years.”

Mr Gorgeous helped his son fit the triangular block into the shape sorter. The baby shook the container and giggled when he heard it rattle.

“You like that, huh?” Mr Gorgeous said. “You’d rather make music than puzzles, would you?”

The baby rattled the toy again and let out a string of nonsense syllables, perfectly mimicking Mr Gorgeous’ intonation.

“I can help with that, if you like,” Blaine offered, taking his guitar. “Do you like Disney songs, little man?”

“Trevor,” Mr Gorgeous supplied. “And my name’s Kurt.”

Blaine stuck out his hand to shake. “Blaine.”

“Nice to meet you, Blaine,” Kurt beamed. “Well, formally, that is. And thank you for that mocha you bought me the other day, I really needed that!”

Blaine shrugged. “I figured you might not have the time to queue for a drink, and not getting any coffee in the morning is cruel and unusual punishment in my book.”

“Too true,” Kurt sighed. “Kiwi from the day care centre called that day to tell me Trevor was ill, and could I please come and pick him up? But I had urgent work to do, and I knew I wouldn’t get it done while caring for a sick baby, so I called my ex, but he just told me it was my week to look after him and hung up, ugh! And when I called him again, he wouldn’t even take up the phone. Probably in bed with his flavour of the week. So I had to go fetch my son after all, and take him to the office with me. Thankfully, Beth from Accounting and Kaja from Legal were in the coffee corner when I arrived, and offered to help look after him, so we took turns, and I got some work done anyway. I caught Trevor’s stomach bug, though. Hard not to when he pukes all over you. I was sick like a dog for two days.”

Blaine grimaced in sympathy, and Kurt’s eyes widened. “Oh, I’m sorry. That was totally TMI. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Blaine laughed. “Relax, it’s okay. I’ve heard plenty of barf stories from friends, though usually, they’re talking about hangovers.”

Kurt gave him a piercing look. “You’re a student?”

Blaine nodded. “Majoring in Musical Theatre and Music Therapy at NYU. This is my last year.”

Kurt quirked an eyebrow. “A double major, huh? Wow! I started out as a Musical Theatre student too, minoring in Costume Design. But I also worked as an intern for Vogue dot com, and my immediate boss stumbled across my sketchbook with clothes designs one day and told me I was really talented and needed to take this further. She pulled a few strings and got me a job as a junior designer at Marc Jacobs when I graduated, and I’ve never looked back. I love it there. And I hope to become a big name designer myself one day.”

Blaine looked at Kurt’s plain windbreaker and jeans. “I’d never have guessed you were a designer.”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “Yes, well, I’m not going to wear designer clothing on days that I’m looking after Trevor. I learnt that fast enough. He ruined a one-of-a-kind Hermès scarf by barfing on it when he was only one day old. So then I bought myself more practical clothing. I still get to wear the designer pieces in the weeks that Adam looks after Trevor.”

“So it IS you!” Blaine blurted out. “I didn’t know… I thought you were twins. One fashionable and one… well… not.”

Kurt threw his head back and laughed. “No. There’s only me. Dressing more plainly during the weeks that I have Trevor, and letting my fashionista shine through the rest of the time.”

Blaine nodded. “That makes sense.”

One of his guitar strings pinged without him touching it, and when he looked down, he saw that Trevor had crawled over to him and was banging his fist on the guitar once more, and then listening intently to the sound that produced.

“You want me to play you a song, Trevor?” Blaine asked.

Kurt scooped Trevor up to sit on his lap as Blaine played song after song. Trevor clapped his hands delightedly and sang along in his very own way, until his eyes drooped and he fell asleep.

Blaine laid his guitar next to him and took a container of tangerines out of his bag. “Want one?”

They chatted companionably while peeling and eating their tangerines, and Blaine was struck dumb when the thought flashed through his head that this was the best date he’d ever been on. Only, this wasn’t a date, now was it? They’d just met here by chance…

He looked up from the tangerine he’d just peeled and found Kurt watching him with a quizzical look on his face. Oh, right, I completely failed to keep up my end of the conversation.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Kurt asked.

“I was just thinking this feels like a date,” Blaine answered truthfully.

Kurt’s eyebrows flew up, but then his mouth curved up into a shy smile. “It does. Though… Most people don’t bring their children on dates.”

“Their loss,” Blaine quipped. “If it wasn’t for Trevor, we would never have started talking. He’s a good wingman.”

After they’d both eaten their fill, Blaine put the container in his bag again and plopped down on his belly, his chin on his arms, content to bask in the sunlight and drink in the lovely sight of Kurt and his son. He dozed off like that, and only woke up when he felt someone tug on his hair.

He hummed questioningly, unsure for a moment as to where he was, and opened one eye. It all came back to him when he saw the baby in front of him. Trevor was studying Blaine’s curly hair with fascination, tugging at a curl and watching it spring up again.

“Trevor!” Kurt chided him, but Blaine laughed and said that he didn’t mind his hair being played with.

“How old is he, anyway?”

“Nine months. And I’m 24, in case you were wondering.”

“That’s young to be a dad,” Blaine mused.

“Tell me about it. My fault for marrying an older man, I suppose.”

Blaine didn’t really know what to say to that, and dropped his eyes to Trevor, who was still contentedly playing with Blaine’s hair.

How much older was Kurt’s ex? And did he always prefer older men? If he did, there was no way he’d ever want Blaine.

“Hey…”

Blaine looked up again.

“I was joking! Adam is only three years older than I am.”

“Still young to be having children,” Blaine said, and Kurt’s face fell for a second, before he managed to paste on a smile again.

“Well, yes. If it had been up to me, I’d have waited longer. But Adam was hell-bent on it, and I didn’t really see how I could refuse.”

Kurt passed a hand over his face and sighed. “It’s the logical next step after marriage, you know. First you move in together, then you get married, then you have kids. And Adam wanted it all with me, and he didn’t want to wait. Maybe he felt, somehow, that we weren’t going to last. That we were growing apart already, and he wanted to fix it with a child.”

Kurt snorted. “Silly, really. Having a baby is one of the toughest tests of a marriage there is. It’s not all love and sunshine. It’s sleepless nights and worries and messes to clean up. And Adam was always away auditioning and I was always the one who had to look after Trevor. Then he would come home when Trevor was finally asleep and ask what dinner I had prepared, and start fondling me ‘cause he wanted sex. And I would be exhausted and snap at him. Yeah, no, our marriage didn’t last long after that. The divorce was finalised a month ago, and I moved here. We have shared custody. Only difference is: I look after Trevor myself, the weeks I have him. Adam just foists him off on his mother, who’s staying with him for the time being, ‘cause he can’t imagine taking care of a baby himself. Why he ever wanted one in first place, then, I can’t fathom.”

It sounded bitter, and made Blaine feel rather uncomfortable.

“Sorry…” Kurt said. “Bitching about your ex is another no-no on dates, isn’t it? I’m not doing so well, then.”

Blaine shook his head. “No, no. It’s still fresh, I get it. And maybe you don’t have many people you can talk to about this.”

Kurt huffed out a laugh. “Well, my dad will listen, but he’ll only say ‘I told you so’ afterwards. Same with my best friend. They both told me NOT to marry so young and NOT to have a kid just yet.”

Blaine hummed in understanding. “Well, it’s a pity it didn’t work out with Adam, but you can’t really regret this cutie, now, can you?”

Blaine bopped Trevor on the nose, and the baby grinned at him and started babbling again.

“No… I don’t regret having Trevor, but it IS hard looking after him on my own. Mind you, I’m used to it by now. It’s not like Adam ever helped out much. But it’s draining. The weeks that he’s with me, I get hardly any sleep, and seeing as I work from home those days, I’ve got no-one to talk to. I suppose I could get a babysitter and go out once in a while, but I don’t like leaving Trevor behind with a stranger. When he’s older, maybe, but now it’s still too early, for me. So I just go out in the weeks that Adam has Trevor.”

Blaine hummed again. “So…”

“So?”

“So if I wanted us to have another date…”

“Best schedule it in a Trevor-free week,” Kurt said, the corners of his mouth curving up slightly.

“Hmm, and if I wanted to see Trevor again too?”

Kurt’s eyebrows went up. “You do?”

Blaine grinned at him. “Yep. You could come over for dinner? Or I could bring dinner to you if it’s too much hassle to tote along Trevor’s stuff?”

Kurt smiled from ear to ear. “No need to bring anything but yourself. I love to cook.”

#newfic #klaine fanfiction #coffee shop aus #happy birthday to all October Gleeks!#rating: general #word count: 3 to 10k

102 notes · View notes