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He heaves a sigh, stands back from his latest work, trying to see it critically. He knows it’s one of his best so far. You could see the passion in the dancer's eyes. The way he loved what he was doing. You could almost see the muscles flexing in the dancer's legs. It felt like he had captured not only a moment in time but also the joy in the performance.
"I wish I knew where he came from. Who he is. If he's real." He looks around his studio space, realizing that he really needs to spend some time cleaning the space.
Another sigh before he grabs another canvas. He picks up his brush, starting on yet another version of the same man. He can clean up later, after one more painting. He runs his hand through his hair finishing before remembering that he has a brush full of paint in his hand.
"Great, another mess to clean up." He looks in the mirror a scowl on his face. He's been in worse condition.
~#~#~#~
Sitting in a café, Blaine enjoys his cup of coffee while he listens to Artie's latest idea, a documentary. All of a sudden a chill runs down his spine. He feels like he's being watched, studied. He surreptitiously looks around the area, but can't see anything suspicious. He thinks it must be a cold breeze and forgets about it.
Artie continues to tell him about this awesome art gallery a couple blocks from his editing studio. He wants to go to the new opening in a couple months. "So, you wanna go? Maybe get together a group, get dinner or drinks afterwards?"
"Yeah, maybe." He's still distracted. Artie's beginning to notice.
#~#~#~#
Every other Sunday afternoon, weather permitting, Blaine, Sam and Tina meet in Central Park for a picnic lunch and to catch up with each other. The afternoon usually dissolves into Blaine and Sam tossing a Frisbee while Tina sits back and watches her two best friends letting off steam.
As Blaine is jumping to catch an awesome throw from Sam, he feels a chill run down his spine. He is so disturbed by the sensation that he almost drops the Frisbee.
"Hey, watch it man! That was my best throw, ever! You can't drop it!" Sam jogs toward Blaine, and immediately becomes concerned when he sees the paleness and blank stare on Blaine's face. "You okay dude? You don't look so good."
"Yeah, just felt something weird, I'm fine." Blaine smiles his brightest smile, but it doesn't go all the way into his eyes. "Let's go get some of those cookies Tina made."
#~#~#~#
They're all sitting in Blaine's apartment. Artie and Sam are trying to incorporate James Bond, Austin Powers, Yoda, and Margaret Thatcher into one conversation. Tina is rolling her eyes at them while she tries not to laugh. Blaine is trying not to laugh or roll his eyes, but he can't stop the small grin that spreads across his face. He feels happy and fortunate to have such a great group of best friends.
The same feeling of being watched washes over him again. What is going on? Do I have a stalker? He stands suddenly, nods his head when his friends ask if he's okay. "Yeah, just need to use the bathroom."
Once he's closed the door, he turns on the cold water and washes his face. Taking a couple seconds to breath deep, settling his fast beating heart. When he opens the door, he can hear that Sam and Artie have finally managed to break Tina; it's been a long time since he heard her let loose. He's glad she has found joy again.
#~#~#~#
Blue eyes.
Brown hair.
Slim figure.
Blaine wakes slowly, a smile on his face. He had the best dream. He moves his arm up, placing his hand under his head. The movement causes the sheet to slip a bit farther down his torso; just barely covering the lower half of his body.
As he's drifting back to sleep, hoping to pick up where he left off, he feels a chill waft over him. That's weird, it's eighty degrees in here. He sits up immediately looking around the room for whoever it is that won't stop staring at him. Nobody's there.
Just in case he says, "Please stop watching me."
#~#~#~#
"Okay, just one more, and then we'll go get coffee. I promise." Tina likes that Blaine is willing to help her with her photography. It's really hard to find someone willing to work for coffee and homemade cookies. While she mostly photographs nature, she likes to add some kind of human element to show the beauty of man with nature and how they can exist together without destroying each other.
He follows her through the botanical garden while she searches for the perfect subject for her last set of pictures. He has long since stopped trying to suggest items for her to use. After the last time she gave him 'the look' and told him that if he didn't want to help her she'd find someone else; he took the hint and decided to simply enjoy the time he spends with her.
"This one. This one is perfect." She stops so suddenly that he almost bumps into her from behind. She puts the camera up to her eye as she starts rotating around the rose, trying to find the right angle. "Okay, I want you to cup your hands around the bloom, but don't actually touch it. Stand opposite me." He follows her directions; he's done this so many times he could probably set up the shot and not be much off from what she wants.
"Like this?" He asks, not to make sure he's doing it the way she wants; it's more a shorthand to let her know that he's ready and won't move until she tells him he can.
"Perfect. Hold still. I'm gonna take about ten shots." She presses the button and he can hear the shutter clicking in rapid succession. "Okay, all done."
There it is again, that feeling of being watched. He looks around while Tina puts the camera into her bag, but doesn't see anything suspicious.
"Ready?" Tina puts her arm around his and gives him a bright smile. He smiles back and they begin walking out of the botanical gardens.
"Lead on Ms. Cohen-Chang."
~#~#~#~
Five days later.
Every empty space in the studio space is covered with paintings, all variations on a theme. The theme of one man Kurt can't get out of his mind. He hasn't stopped creating images of this man in his mind for at least the last five days. Every imaginable pose, every individual part of the body; all caught on canvasses stacked everywhere.
Kurt walks into his studio rubbing a towel through his hair. His eyes scanning over the various canvasses, a critical eye darting back and forth. He is happy with what he sees.
If only I could create a real person from figments of my imagination. Walking into his bedroom, he searches for anything that smells clean enough that he wouldn't feel bad about wearing it for another painting session. He has some commissions to work on. He needs to focus on what other people want from him rather than let his imagination run wild again.
~#~#~#~
Ten days later.
He hears a knock on his door as he is cleaning out his last brush at the little sink he installed in his studio space. He lays it down on the towel to dry and sighs as he moves toward the door. He knows who it is, she’s been calling almost non-stop for the past week.
He plasters a smile on his face as he opens the door, expecting to see anger on her face; but instead sees concern. He quickly has his arms full of his best friend, Quinn.
“Oh, thank god! You’re okay. I've been so worried. So has your dad. Why haven’t you answered your phone? It’s been weeks! Weeks, Kurt!” She pulls her face away from his shoulder, and he can see tears in her eyes.
Guilt washes over him as he gently pushes her away, moving them away from the door. “I’m sorry, Quinn. I found a muse and couldn’t stop painting. It has been consuming me for days.”
Quinn immediately feels sorry for yelling at him, she knows from years of being around him how he gets when a muse hits him. Although she’s still upset that he didn’t at least send a text that he was still alive and unharmed. “Next time, a text would be nice. If not to me at least to your dad; I don’t think you want him to worry like that again.”
Properly chastised, Kurt moves to the kitchen, fills the kettle and puts it on the stove to heat up. “Yeah. I’ll call him after you leave, let him know that I’m alive and everything. Want to stay for coffee? I’m done painting for now.”
“Sure. But only if you let me look at what you’ve been working on so when your dad calls later to confirm that he wasn’t dreaming his conversation with you, I can assure him that you were in fact painting all this time.” She begins moving towards the curtained off area. “Also, you owe me some of those cookies. Consider them payment for pain and suffering.” She grins over her shoulder as she walks through the doorway.
Her eyes get very large as she takes in all the canvasses, some stacked six and seven deep against the walls. “Wow!”
Quinn slowly walks around the space, moving aside canvasses to see what is underneath. She has seen Kurt's work before, but never so many on the same subject.
She focuses on the overall subject of the paintings, wondering who it is. Who is the man in these paintings? I need to help Kurt find this guy.
"So, have you ever thought of doing a showing? You have enough for a series, or ten, here." She calls through the opening, poking her head out when she doesn't hear an answer.
Kurt finishes preparing the coffee and cookies, bringing them to the table in the dining area before looking over to Quinn. He rolls his eyes as he sees Quinn go back to nosing through his studio, carefully moving aside canvasses to see behind them.
He steps away from the table towards where Quinn is staring at one particular painting. He watches her, the way she studies not only the overall picture, but also the nuanced way light played over the scene in front of her. He has always enjoyed the way she immerses herself in his work. She's not only his best friend, but also his worst critic.
"No, not really. If I did, I wouldn't want any of these to be shown. Although I created this guy, I feel like it would be creepy to show them." He places his hand on her back, "Come on, coffee's ready. I even found some of those cookies you like. The last of the batch."
"OK, let me just go wash my hands." She heads toward the bathroom, watches him go to the kitchen, and sneaks back to the studio pulling her camera out of her pocket.
She snaps a couple pictures of her favorites. She knows just the person to show them to. I'll get his showing lined up first, he has more talent than he gives himself credit for.
"So, you've really never seen this guy before? I mean, you've got so many different views, so many different focuses of your painting. It's almost like you hired this guy to be your own private model." She places a couple cookies on her plate while she nonchalantly asks her questions.
He watches her, trying to be inconspicuous while asking her questions. But he knows her, knows how nosy she can be; and determined when she gets her mind set on something. "No, never seen him before. Not even sure he's real." Wish he was.
"Hmmm." She closes her eyes, savoring the bite of cookie in her mouth. "You know, if you did a showing you might find someone who knows him. Or you might find him. Maybe he's a face you've seen in a crowd somewhere, on the subway or in the park."
"No, I haven't been anywhere not in walking distance from here in six weeks. I know I'd remember him if I'd seen him. Besides, that wouldn't explain how I got so much detail. I know I'm good, but a glance wouldn't mean that I could do so much detail on so many different parts of his body." He gasps as his brain catches up with his mouth. Quinn, being who she is, notices his slip up and focuses on the last phrase out of his mouth.
"Wait, I didn't see anything but different activities; all things that you could see him do at a park or out in public. What else have you been painting, Kurt Hummel? And why didn't I see them?"
He rolls his eyes, more at himself than at Quinn and the eager look on her face. "Nothing. Forget I said anything. I only did what you've seen. That's all. And you'll never get me to admit otherwise."
They grin at each other, each knowing the other wouldn't budge. She finally gives up, knowing that she would eventually get to see all he'd been working on.
~#~#~#~
She meets Santana at an outdoor cafe down the block from her gallery. Santana has been looking for one more up and coming artist to include in her next show. Quinn knows that Kurt is good enough, probably better than any other artist already included in the show.
After they have placed their orders, they catch up on what's been going on in their lives. Santana has been working non-stop for the past two weeks, not only looking for another artist but also trying to organize the exhibits already being included. Quinn has been spending her days with patients, and her nights with Kurt trying to wheedle his other paintings out of him. Or at least the subject of them.
"So, I know you didn't pull me away from my very important work just to tell me that your days are boring and your nights are even more so." Santana spears a tomato with more force than required, causing the juice and seeds to spurt over the middle of the table.
"Calm down, I have an answer to all of your problems. Kurt can be your final artist. He's been working on a series, it's amazing. All one subject, in different scenarios. The way he has captured the movement, it seems like you're watching the actual person, not looking at a painting." Quinn hasn't touched her meal. She prefers no distractions while she tries to convince Santana.
"Yeah, sure. Why not? I've seen his commissions. They're good, but I'm going for a different vibe with this showing. Not so generic."
"No, really. I took some pictures when I was there." Quinn pulls her phone out of her purse, scrolling to the first of the pictures and handing it over to Santana. She begins eating her salad while Santana quickly scrolls through the pictures; then watches as she goes back to the beginning spending more time on each, zooming in on specific parts of some.
After almost an hour, she finally hands the phone back to Quinn; lifts her fork to her mouth and finishes her lunch. Every time Quinn tries to make a comment, Santana shakes her head. Quinn finally gives up, knowing Santana well enough to know that she needs time to think and consider what she's seen.
As they are leaving the cafe, Santana turns to Quinn and says "OK. You're right. He'd be perfect. Have him bring over the ones he wants in the show and I'll put them up." She starts to walk away, but is stopped by a hand on her arm.
"Wait. He's gonna need convincing. I already asked if he would show them and he said no. I'm meeting him later for drinks. Come with me; help me convince him that this would be great for him. And that he should put this new series in the show." She hopes Santana agrees, Kurt will take more convincing than she was able to give. "You can also help me convince him to show me the rest, because there are more to this series. I'm guessing they're more 'personal'; because he won't confirm they exist, much less let me see them."
"How do you know there are more than what you've seen?"
"Just something he said the first time I saw those. Made it seem like he's been creating his perfect man, from the skin up." She grins at the immediate look of interest on Santana's face. Quinn knows how to get her interested, from a purely aesthetic point of view of course.
"Sure, OK. Let me know when and where. I'll be there." Santana turns on her heel, phone already in hand checking messages. She spins around and yells "I'll bring my standard agreement, and we can make any changes before he signs." She waves her hand and continues to the gallery, already planning what she'll have to rearrange to put Kurt's art in the prime spots in the gallery.
Now the hard part. Kurt.
It takes a lot of bargaining on her part. Promises of fancy dinners at fancy restaurants. Shopping trips to his favorite stores. And a promise that if he doesn’t like the gallery, or the gallery owner, he can walk away no questions asked and she will never again try to meddle in his life; but she gets him to agree to meet with Santana. He agrees to listen to what she has to say, but not to sign anything until he gets a chance to think about it, and talk to his dad.
~#~#~#~
They meet at The Bar at nine o'clock that night. Quinn buys Kurt's first drink, hoping to smooth the way for Santana's pitch. She looks up as the door opens and she sees Kurt and Brittany walk into the bar. She rolls her eyes, hoping that Brittany's presence won't preclude Kurt listening to what she and Santana plan to say. She loves Brittany as much as she loves Kurt, they are her two best friends; but Brittany has proven to be a shrewd part-time agent of Kurt's art career.
Kurt and Brittany make their way through the bar toward Quinn's table; stopping to talk to people they know. Turning down propositions from people they don't. Quinn signals their waitress for a drink for Brittany, resigning herself to the added complication of the evening.
Kurt kisses her on the cheek before sitting down in front of his drink, smiling at the waitress who brings over the drink for Brittany. "So, what'cha want Quinn?" He grins at her double-take. "Brittany figured out that there was probably more to this than just getting together for drinks. So, was she right?"
Quinn glares at Brittany, who smiles sweetly while sipping her drink, before turning toward Kurt. "Just waiting for a friend of mine. Then I'll tell you everything. I promise."
They hang out, mostly quiet, waiting for Santana who assures Quinn she’s 'on the way'. Finally the door opens, Santana sauntering in proclaiming, "I'm here now. The fun can begin." The entire bar falls quiet, everyone turning toward the door and the vision in a red suit.
Kurt quirks his eyebrow at Quinn, who, smiling, stands and motions for Santana to join them. Santana, a lover of attention, slowly makes her way over; smiling at every turned head that follows her across the room. As Santana takes a seat at the table, the waitress comes over to take her drink order; Quinn introduces Santana to Kurt and Brittany.
“Santana, I’d like you to meet Kurt Hummel, artist, and his agent Brittany Pierce. Kurt, Brittany Santana Lopez, owner of The Gallery.” She waits for handshakes to finish before sitting down at the table again. “Kurt, I showed Santana a couple pictures of the stuff I saw in your studio the other day and she was very interested.” Hoping that's enough of an opener, she sits back and watches Kurt and Santana eye each other. She can see the wariness in Kurt’s expression and the recognition in Santana’s. Really hope this doesn’t blow up in my face.
“We’ll get to that later Quinn, you know how protective I am of my work. I don’t show it to anyone until I’m ready.” He gives one last glare to Quinn before turning his attention to Santana. He knows who she is; he looked up The Gallery’s website after Quinn told him who they were meeting. “Ms. Lopez, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Oh, the pleasure is all mine Mr. Hummel. But please call me Santana, I feel like we’ve known each other for years.” She may be laying it on a little thick, but she really needs to land his work for the showing, tonight. She stopped actively looking for anyone else after her meeting with Quinn. If she doesn’t get him signed, she is totally screwed.
Kurt really hates gallery owners. They all seem to be cut from the same cloth, major suck-ups willing to bend over backwards to be the person who discovered the next Picasso. “Let’s cut the crap. I know your place, I’ve walked by it. I’ve been inside. I know that you have a big opening in a week and need one last artist. I also know that you are willing to give me whatever I want to get me to be that artist.” He held up his hand to stop her inevitable interruption. “Let me finish and then I’ll listen to your spiel. I’ll tell you what I want and you’ll give it to me, no questions asked or I walk and you never see me again.”
Santana holds her tongue, choosing to nod her understanding. She’s heard that he is a hard bargainer and that his agent is even worse.
At her nod Kurt continues “I want only a couple things. First, I choose which pieces are shown as well as where they are shown in your space. No arguments, I don’t care if there are hurt feelings. You came to me last minute; I know that you’re desperate. Second, I will not attend the opening, nor will I be available to answer questions for anyone. What is listed on the card for each piece is all that you get. Third, none of the pieces are for sale. I don’t care the amount offered, Not For Sale. And finally, you get the pieces for one month. After the month is over, you will have the pieces packaged and returned to me within twenty-four hours, at which point our relationship will be complete. It will be at my discretion if we have any further dealings.” He finishes ticking off his conditions, glancing at Brittany to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything and sits back in his seat taking a long sip of his drink.
“Finished?” Santana asks. She has dealt with her share of cranky artists, but never one as cranky as Kurt Hummel. At his nod she begins, “First, the showing is scheduled to last for three months, not one. I need the pieces for that amount of time. I’m fine with you choosing where they go, but it will be hard to make it look like a full exhibit if there are gaping holes after a month. Second, while I have never worked with an artist who didn’t want any exposure to their adoring public, I understand those who are more comfortable staying in the background. I may need to contact you at some point during opening night, and I will do so. There is not enough time to choose, hang and learn about each of your pieces. You will be available to answer questions on opening night only. Third, you may choose which pieces you want shown, and even where they will be placed, but I will make the final decisions. If I don’t feel that a particular piece will work with the rest, I will veto its use. Finally, at the end of the exhibit in three months and one week, you will have all of your loaned pieces returned to you within twenty-four hours. Did I forget anything?” She looks around the table, noticing the stunned look on Kurt’s face, the interest on Brittany’s and the smile on Quinn’s. “Oh yeah, I’m fine with you not wanting to sell any of the pieces, but expect a whole lot of interest in them. And many of them will not take no for an answer.”
Kurt finds his voice after clearing his throat a number of times, “Fine, I can give them to you for three months. I will be available for one hour on opening night to take your calls, an hour I decide on beforehand. After that you will need to make my excuses. I do have other things in my life. I will choose the pieces I want shown and have them to you in two days.” Having said his piece, he stands and makes a quick exit from the bar closely followed by Brittany who hands her card to Santana as she leaves.
Quinn raises her glass in toast, “That could have been so much worse!” She waits for Santana to clink their glasses together before taking a sip of her drink, the smile evident on her face.
“Yeah, whatever.” Santana mumbles into her glass. “He didn’t even sign the contract.”
~#~#~#~
Blaine reluctantly agrees to the gallery opening. He’s relying on the promise to leave if he doesn’t enjoy himself. He knows that no matter how long he stays, he won't enjoy himself. He's never really gotten physical art. Music and Dancing, he gets. Acting, he gets. Paintings, sculpture he just doesn’t get. He can appreciate the effort it takes to create, but he's never understood the desire to stand in front of something for hours on end observing every single detail; and then going back the next day to do the same thing. He likes his art to be something that he can appreciate in the moment, and will be entirely different the next time he sees it.
So, Friday night finds Blaine with his entire wardrobe scattered around his bedroom, frantically searching for the perfect outfit to wear to The Gallery. He really doesn't want to go, but his friends have been noticing his weird bouts of silence for the past two weeks. All three banded together to try to distract him; promising that if he gave the opening half an hour, they would leave with him if he wasn't having any fun.
Tina walks into his apartment while he is holding up five different shirts trying to decide which would be the best match with the pants he had finally decided on. "Hey, Blaine? You about ready to go? Sam and Artie are waiting downstairs in the cab." She stops in his doorway, taking in the mess that is his bed. "Problem?" She smirks at his look of distress.
"Which one?" He holds up each in succession, looking at her with hope that she will help.
She tries to hold back the laugh that wants to come out; they are all white button-down shirts. "Uhm...You know those are all the same shirt. Right?"
He gives her The Look (his friends have named it; and yes, it is capitalized), rolling his eyes as he turns toward her. "Well, no, they're not all the same. This one has a light grey pinstripe. This one has a white-check pattern. This one is off-white silk. This one.." He stops when he hears her begin to laugh. He chooses the silk one, slipping it over his shoulders and walking away from the bed; grabbing his keys and phone from his dining table on the way by. "Ready?"
The cab ride is uneventful, except for the teasing he receives from his 'friends'.
They get to The Gallery forty-five minutes after the showing has begun, grab drinks and begin walking around viewing the art on the walls. At some point they become separated, each heading off in a different direction. Shortly, Blaine begins to feel like he is being stared at.
"Excuse me. I really like that painting of you over there. Could you tell me who the artist is? I'd like to have my grandson's portrait done." Blaine turns to see the woman who tapped him on the shoulder.
"I'm sorry? I don't know what you're talking about." Blaine gives her his best smile.
As he wanders around the exhibit, he begins to enjoy himself. Then, he sees a familiar figure out of the corner of his eye. After a double-take, he realizes that the figure is him. He looks at the artist information card, hoping that one of his friends maybe took up painting and entered their work into the show. No such luck. Kurt Hummel. Never heard of him.
Now he’s becoming more concerned. He recognizes the move in the painting. He was at rehearsal for his latest show. Closed rehearsal. He searches the space, looking for someone in charge; hoping to be able to find out something about the artist. Most importantly how he got into the theater. He moves toward where he sees Tina and Sam across the room; staring at something.
"Well, I think the artist really caught the mischief in his grin. I know that look; it usually comes right before he gives in to the laughter."
"Did you see the one over there? I'd recognize those abs anywhere. Wonder when he started modeling, and why he never told us about it."
"Probably because he knew we'd tease the crap out of him. Just like he'd tease any of us if we did the same thing."
They’re startled by a low throat clearing behind them. When they turn around they find Blaine, eyes unblinking, staring at the painting they had been looking at.
Blaine can feel his pulse racing, his throat is dry, and he knows that if he were to look in a mirror he'd be as pale as his shirt. He hears his name being called, but he is sure that the voice is miles away from where he is standing. He's snapped back (literally) by Tina, a look of concern on her face. "You okay?"
Blaine blinks his eyes a couple times, swallowing to moisten his throat before he looks at Tina, then Artie, then Sam. "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Do you know where the gallery owner is? I really need to speak with him." He glances around the room, trying to see who looks to be in charge.
"I think it's that woman over there, in the tight black dress." Artie points to the other side of the room.
~#~#~#~
“Excuse me? I was hoping to talk to you about one of the paintings I saw hanging over there.”
“Which one?” She follows him over to the display. “Oh! Kurt’s painting? What would you like to know?” She looks between the painting and the man standing in front of her. Her eyebrow rises slightly when she sees the resemblance and hopes that there isn’t going to be a problem.
“Well, mostly I want to speak with him?” He smiles at her, hoping that she’ll point him out.
“I’ll bet you would. Sorry he’s not here; and he’s not available for questions.” She hopes that he won’t cause problems tonight. “I can get in touch with his agent, though. If you’d like?” She starts to scroll through her phone, looking for Brittany’s number. Pausing before she presses the call button.
“He’s not here? I just need to ask him a few questions. Maybe you could give me his number? I promise I’m not a serial killer or anything.” His tries his best charming smile. The one that gets him an extra shot in his coffee.
“I don’t think so. I don’t give out the phone numbers of my artists. Or their agents. Either I can call his agent right now, or you can leave your name and number and I’ll get it to him. Although, I wouldn’t hold my breath that he’ll call you. He’s very temperamental.”
“I – I’ll leave my name and number. Could you please tell him that it’s very important that he call me? I really need to speak with him.” He hands over his information, and goes to find his friends; hoping that they are ready to get out of here. It’s creepy having his likeness hanging on the wall.
~#~#~#~
"I said no, Quinn. I'll agree to Santana pulling the pieces from the exhibit, if that’s what he wants but I don't want to meet him. I feel mortified. I can't believe I created all these," he swings his arms around the room, encompassing every canvas although he knows she can't see through the phone, "and it turns out I was just some creepy stalker-guy. Maybe I saw him in passing and created this fictional life for him." He continues to pace through his apartment, stopping when he spots a painting that makes him blush. "I imagined him naked Quinn. Naked! I don't need him to know that!"
Quinn tries really hard not to laugh. "Naked? I didn't see that one. Take a picture and send it to me. Better yet, I'll give you a million dollars for that one. From what I hear he's quite the looker."
"Quinn, I'm not selling any of them. Plus you don't have a million dollars."
"Well, I promised Santana I'd get you to call him. And you will call him. Santana said he looked kinda freaked out. Like he’d seen a ghost.” Or some paintings of himself done by some random guy he’s never met. She plasters on her most sincere smile and says, “If you don't do this I will call your dad." Quinn is not above blackmail, especially when trying to help Kurt without him knowing.
“Fine! I’ll call him. But if he turns out to be a stalker, I will make sure that you receive my wrath! All of it!” He hangs up the phone and puts his head in his hands, vowing that his wrath will be something legends are made of. Legends!
Two days later Kurt still hasn’t contacted Blaine. He’s had the number since Santana gave it to him. Has even started dialing, making it to the last number before hanging up. He is really not good with people. He’s much better with paint, sometimes clay. But mostly paint. He knows that if he can’t prove that he’s at least talked to the guy by the time Quinn arrives, she’ll make the call for him and who knows what she’ll say.
Glancing at the clock on his microwave, he sees that he has fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes to call some strange guy; a guy who freaked out when he saw some painting on a wall in a gallery. Kurt decides that the worst that could happen is that he could gain a stalker and be stabbed on his doorstep. Every artist becomes famous after death, right? He bites the bullet (or at least the inside of his cheek) and punches in i>all</i> the numbers to the phone number he’s had memorized since he got it.
“Hello?” And his breath catches in his throat at the sound of the (not so crazy sounding) guy on the line.
“Uhm…Hi? T-this is Kurt Hummel? Santana Lopez said you wanted to speak to me? About my paintings?” Really, Kurt? Does everything have to be a question?
A pause, some noise in the background, then, “Oh! Hi! I was really hoping you’d call! Yeah! Uhm…I wanted to know about the inspiration for those paintings. I mean, they’re really great, and I’d really like to know how you came up with the subject and…” The voice trails off. “Can I meet you for a drink? Or coffee?”
Before he gets his brain to co-operate, his mouth is already saying, “Yes, I’d like that. Coffee would be great!” And he immediately slaps his hand over his mouth, hoping that will pull the words back in.
“Great! I’m free in a couple hours. How about we meet at Gorilla Coffee? In Brooklyn? I need to finish up what I’m doing and run home really quick. But I can be there in two hours.” He tries to not sound too weird, he wants Kurt to meet him, not be scared away.
Kurt has so many butterflies flitting around in his stomach, he’s sure Blaine can hear them over the phone. He quickly agrees, hoping he has bridged the gap between anxious and scared; or at least that Blaine doesn’t notice.
Kurt hears a knock on his door, followed by the door sliding open revealing Quinn. “Yeah, sure, that sounds great. I’ll see you then.” He hangs up, and then glares at Quinn’s questioning look.
“What’s up? You look strange.”
“I called him, we’re meeting. And you’re going with. I want a witness who can describe my stalker to the police. After he slashes my throat.” Kurt walks into his bedroom and begins looking through his closet, trying to find an outfit that is presentable, but doesn’t scream, ‘Kill me now!’
Quinn grins and sends a quick message to Santana, ‘Operation get Kurt laid is a go!’ before she follows him into his bedroom. She vetoes every outfit he tries until he finally gives up and lets her choose something for him. She picks a pair of fitted charcoal grey trousers and a simple sky blue cashmere v-neck sweater. She allows him to choose his shoes and accessories, knowing that there was only one pair of shoes he’d wear with the pants and that he won’t put holes in the sweater.
~#~#~#~
Luckily, the coffee shop is close enough to Kurt’s apartment for them to walk, but far enough away that if he’s followed home he’ll be able to tell. They set out twenty minutes early; wanting to make sure they get there on time.
“Shit!” Kurt stops in the middle of the sidewalk.
“What?” Quinn turns around, staring at him as he continues to mutter to himself.
“I forgot to find out what he looks like, or to set up some kind of signal so that we would know that we are who we are.” He begins walking again, spurred on by Quinn’s insistent tugging on his arm.
“You’ll know who he is when you see him. I’m sure.” She smiles to herself as she opens the door and allows him to walk in ahead of her. They find a table and sit down.
Leaving twenty minutes early for a five minute walk proves to have nerve wracking consequences; giving him fifteen minutes to second guess the whole thing. And psych himself out; turns out he has a very vivid imagination. He is getting ready to call the whole thing off when the door opens and in walks: curly hair, olive toned skin, broad shoulders, slim waist, dancers legs, and the most piercing eyes and cutest half-smile he’s ever seen. Kurt finds that his mouth has gone dry, his breathing has become shallow, and he has forgotten every word he ever knew.
Quinn follows his line of sight, stands up and extends her hand to the man she knows Kurt has been dreaming about for months. “Hi! I’m Quinn. You must be Blaine. It’s so nice to finally meet you. Santana told me about you.” She turns to Kurt, nudges him with her hip, rolls her eyes when she sees that he hasn’t moved since Blaine walked in the door, and says, “This is Kurt. He’s the guy you wanted to meet.”
Kurt clears his throat and tries to swallow. Then he tries to remember all the manners he knows (or at least any words), but can’t seem to come up with anything. He at least gets the message to his body that he should stand and hold out his hand. Maybe shaking Blaine’s hand will jump start his verbal skills.
No such luck. He stands there, holding Blaine’s hand rapidly pumping it up and down while his eyes don’t blink and a maniacal smile remains on his face.
They are finally saved when Quinn asks Blaine if he’d like a coffee. “Yes, please. Medium drip?” He reaches the hand not currently being death-gripped into his pocket and pulls out a few bills, handing them to Quinn with a smile.
“Oh, it’s on me.” She waves him off and turns toward the counter. While she waits in line she keeps one eye on Kurt and Blaine and the other on her phone while texting Santana with updates. Never seen him act like this. I hope Blaine doesn’t need his right arm, pretty sure Kurt is going to take it home with him. Wow, that was the longest and most awkward greeting I’ve ever seen.
She gets a series of thumbs ups in reply from Santana. She delivers the coffee to the table, waves off Blaine’s invitation to sit with them saying she has some work to do at another table. As she leaves them, she hears Blaine ask, “So how long have you been painting?”
She sits at a table across the room, pretending to work; until she decides that it’s time to leave fate and the universe to do their thing. She sends a quick text to Kurt, telling him goodbye and to call her later (or sooner if there is a problem) and heads home.
Kurt eventually finds his voice and (thank god) his words. He even manages to put those words together in sentences. He finds that Blaine is easy to talk to; he’s interesting and interested in what Kurt has to say. They talk about the little things; family, friends, school, hometowns. Then move on to the big things; hopes, dreams, ambitions, fears, coming out. After three hours Blaine has almost forgotten his reason for wanting this meeting, until Kurt brings it up.
“So, Quinn said you saw my work at Santana’s gallery? And that you sounded freaked out after you saw them.” He thinks he knows why Blaine would be freaked out. Kurt knew the minute he saw Blaine come in the door. He just hopes that Blaine isn’t offended in any way. He really had no idea that he was painting someone real.
“Yeah. I was a little freaked out when I saw me hanging on the wall; but really only with the one from my dance rehearsal. I wanted to know how you got in? It was a closed rehearsal, and the director is very paranoid about letting strangers in.” He watches Kurt while he speaks, knowing from the past three hours that Kurt’s eyes will tell him all he needs to know.
Kurt briefly looks to the table, before raising his eyes and looking straight into Blaine’s. He marvels at the compassion and emotion hidden deep within those eyes, and not for the first time wishes that he could spend hours painting those eyes in different light, different emotion. “I didn’t go in. I created all of them from my imagination. Until you walked in here I had no idea that you were real.” He can feel the blush flaming on his cheeks, hopes that it’s at least an attractive blush and not his usual zero to tomato hue.
Now it’s Blaine’s turn to stare at the table. “Really? You never broke in? Even for just a minute?” He sees Kurt shake his head. “That’s amazing. All that from your imagination?”
Kurt nods his head again. “I really didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just got this face in my head and I couldn’t get it out. Quinn saw some of the paintings, she took pictures while I wasn’t looking, showed them to Santana and the rest is history, I guess.”
“I’m not uncomfortable. Not anymore. I think this was probably the best thing to happen to me in a long time. If nothing else, I met a great artist who I can hopefully talk into becoming a friend.” Blaine is, of course, hoping for more than that; but he’s willing to start small. Like a lifetime.
All too soon, they are kicked out of the coffee shop. They step outside and begin to bid their farewells. Each hoping that they can meet up again, sometime.
Kurt has taken two steps toward his apartment, when he suddenly spins around prepared to chase after Blaine. He sees that Blaine has also stopped and is turning around, his mouth open, preparing to say something.
Kurt beats him to it, using the most clichéd line he has ever used, “Want to come see my paintings?” He holds his hand out, an invitation for more. Maybe even a lifetime.
Blaine grins; he takes quick strides, places his hand in Kurt’s and feels the peace he knew would come, as well as the electricity of things that are yet to come. “I’d love to.”
Kurt smiles in return and leads him toward his apartment. And their shared future.
~#~#~#~
Kurt shows Blaine the studio, pointing out the sheer volume of canvasses he created over the past months. Blaine is impressed, and slightly creeped out. Mostly impressed.
Blaine spends hours carefully looking at every painting. He notices that Kurt focused on specific parts of him; his eyes, his lips, his hands; many times filling a canvass with multiple versions of the same thing, each one slightly different, but obviously from the same subject.
Kurt has never had a problem being in the same room with someone perusing his work. He enjoys seeing the reactions on the faces of the people who see his work for the first time, or the thousandth time. With Blaine it’s different; maybe because what he is looking at is so personal, for both of them. Kurt spent so many hours creating something from his imagination, wishing that what he was creating could come to life. Only to find out that his wishes have come true.
He stays in the living room area, alternately flipping through magazines and staring at the curtain which separates him from where Blaine is, hoping that he hasn’t scared him off with the number of paintings.
An hour later, he can’t stand sitting on the couch anymore, so he moves to the kitchen and pulls out ingredients for cookies. He’s always been a stress baker, and if this isn’t a stressful situation he doesn’t know what is.
He’s pulling the last tray of cookies out of the oven when he feels Blaine standing behind him.
Blaine has come to the last painting; it has taken him almost three hours to look at every single canvas in this room. He has been slowly going crazy; both from staring at paintings of himself in various poses (and states of dress) and from the smells permeating the apartment. He has realized that he didn’t have anything to eat after rehearsal today, too intent on getting to his meeting with Kurt.
He carries the painting in his hand out to the living room; he can’t seem to figure out what has stuck in his mind about this one. Something won’t quite work its way completely toward a full thought, so he goes to the source.
“What’s this one?” He holds the painting so Kurt can see. “I mean, I know that’s my hand, but who’s the other one belong to? None of the others have anyone else in them.”
Kurt looks up from the counter where he is placing cookies on the cooling rack. When he sees which one Blaine is referring to, he drops the spatula and cookie sheet, startled. His hand moves up to his chest, as if to sooth his heart.
Blaine’s eyes have followed his hand. He gasps, his eyes widening. He sees the shock in Kurt’s eyes. “What’s this?” He hopes that Kurt can hear that it’s curiosity in his voice and not anger or fear.
Awe is on the face Kurt has been painting for months. He recognizes a future in Blaine’s eyes, a future neither knew they could have until this very moment. He shrugs, “I’ve been looking for you forever.” A small smile plays on his face as he takes a step closer to the man who has been his muse.
Blaine places the painting, two hands, wedding bands, flowers, on the counter and closes the distance toward the future he wants.
