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“Your flight landed an hour ago. What’s the hold up?” Quinn smiled as Kurt was within ear shot, arms outstretched to coral Kurt into a huge hug.
Kurt smiled as he saw his best friend ― looking beautiful in her signature white sundress, heeled espadrilles, and a light white coat, clutching in her arms a bunch of white, yellow, and purple mums. He willingly went in her arms both of them squeezing each other excitedly.
“Let me look at you.” Quinn held him at arm’s length, eyes squinting knowingly as she noticed her best friend’s flushed face. “Fun flight?”
“Fun layover, atrocious flight this flustered mom couldn’t stop her three children from crying ― bless her heart.” Kurt said, smiling gratefully at the welcome home flowers and presenting Quinn an arm, walking out of Charles de Gaulle as Quinn loop her arm around his’ taking the lighter one of one of Kurt’s bag. “You will never believe who I ran into.”
“Do tell.” she said slyly.
“Remember that Dalton lead ―”
“Blaine?!” she demanded.
“No! The one who slushied Blaine with the rock salt.” Kurt laughed.
It took a moment for Quinn to remember. “Sebastian?” she whispered in half disbelief.
“Yes.”
“You ran into him just now?” Quinn chuckled disbelievingly.
“Yes.”
“And?” Quinn pressed for more information. “That’s it?”
“He changed so much. Well ― from what I can tell from that little reunion.” Kurt muttered thoughtfully. “He wasn’t as cocky or as arrogant as I’d remember him; at all, actually, now that I’m thinking about it since he was practically prying Blaine out of my grip in high school. He was like a totally different person.”
“Well. It’s been ten years. Let’s just hope he did change.”
“He looks so good. Even better than I remembered him being.”
“You’re drooling.” she giggled.
“I am not!” Kurt glared at her scandalized.
“In his defense, he always looked good. High school him was cute in a 30s way if you know what I mean.”
“Now who’s drooling?” Kurt accused but also nodding in agreement.
“What’s he up to?” Quinn asked curiously.
“We didn’t actually get to that since we practically just check each other out.” Kurt felt the blush hot on his cheeks ignoring Quinn’s sly side eye. “Sebastian lives here actually. And from what I gathered when I attended David’s birthday five years ago, he was studying at the Sorbonne.”
Quinn whistled quietly impressed. “So he’s smart, and French.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t have to keep coaxing information out of you all day am I right?”
“We agreed to catch up when he gets back.”
“You exchanged number?”
Oh no, he thought. “No.” Kurt flailed. “Oh my god. We didn’t . We didn’t even get to that!”
Quinn raised an eyebrow at Kurt’s mortified expression. “Hopeless is what you are, my love. Don’t worry about it. In this day and age ― he mighta just slide into your DMs.” she drawled trying to make him smile.
“Touché.” Kurt smiled sadly, opening the cab door for Quinn to get in first.
Kurt smiled to himself nodding approvingly as he looked around his room. It looks better than what he had planned three months prior to moving to Paris. Three days since arriving to Paris his stuffs with the movers finally arrived from London at his and Quinn’s humble 9th floor apartment at Rue Bichet at the 10th arrondissement high enough to give them a devastating view of Paris, the Canal Saint Martin, and the Eiffel Tower from afar.
His room is all white, minimal, and cozy making the hardwood floors and the brick wall by the west stand on their own. A fluffy king sized bed is pushed to the farthest end on the east side where the full wall was floor to ceiling window ― Quinn reverently offered him the room with the corner window so he opted to push the bed directly on the edge for the lighting where majority of his weekends will be spent on bed reading and meditating leaning against the window. On the right side of his bed stands a single white antique nightstand filled to the brim with scented candles ― he knows he need for their different purposes.
In front of his bed is the double door walk in closet which is big enough to also house his vanity and a little walkway leading to a humble bathroom he had refixtured and retiled. Beside the doors leaned a triple full sized mirror with antique silver frame Kurt splurged on when he and Quinn found it on an afternoon trip to Les Puces two days ago.
The center and west side of the room is covered in plush cow hide print leather carpet he brought with him from London, a white lounge he scoured and begged for from Santana sits on the farther west side with a modern white lamp reclining behind it. Two tall white bookshelves house his many books, and momentos.
Kurt nodded happily as he circled the room dazedly. His life might be out of order and hectic but he’ll be damned if his abode shows it.
A little knock tapped on the door and seconds later Quinn’s head peaked in. “Hey, hot stuff. Wanna grab dinner?” Quinn looked around the room, smiling and nodding her approval. “I see your minimalist aesthetic is intact.”
Kurt grabbed his camel trench, his wallet, and keys. “Well it is a far cry from Santana’s sex dungeon aesthetic and I’m not complaining.” Kurt shivered at the thought but nonetheless missing his London roommate.
“I’m glad you’re here with me. Santana claimed you long enough.” Quinn smiled, sticking her tongue out.
They walked out of the hallway to the living room arm in arm and both smiled at what they saw.
“We did good, Hummel.” Quinn smiled, pecking Kurt on a cheek.
And that they did. The living room was both sophisticated and homey ― the same hardwood floor and brick walls giving it an inviting atmosphere. They splurged a little on the sofa with them buying three camel Toga cushions each in order to create a big L-shaped one ― Quinn’s tree trunk coffee table on the middle with three candelabra and a stack of coasters, a carpet they both agreed reminded them of Aladdin’s they bought from a joint vacation from Morocco underneath it. Facing it are four big bookcases of Quinn’s filled to the brim with books, their trinkets and baubles from trips, a plethora of records with Kurt’s late mother’s record player on the middle. Countless plants and Quinn’s crystals are charging by the windowsill in anticipation for the full moon are lined up on the east wall which ― like both of their rooms are floor to ceiling windows. Mirrors of different sizes hanged and leaning are what adorned the south wall facing the sofa, leading into the kitchen complete with a countertop that could sit four benches ― housing their prized white SMEG appliances.
“We really did.” Kurt nodded. “Months of searching and work and finally we’re settled.”
“Thank god you moved here. All the begging and rainy days in London were worth it.” Quinn smiled staring at the view dazedly. “We really got out, huh?”
“We did.” Kurt smiled lacing his fingers to hers, squeezing and understanding.
They ended up at the café two blocks away from their home Kurt frequented whenever he visited Paris for fashion week or to visit Quinn. La Fontaine de Belleville ― a corner café that is quintessentially French with the small round tables and blue wicker chairs. It usually bustling in the afternoon but they managed to score a table outside.
Quinn smiled her thanks as Kurt opened a chair for her. “Well I think we found our new brunch place.” she smiled at the waiter as he handed them their little menu. “I can’t believe I’ve never been here.” she muttered as she perused the menu.
“I usually take the time to come here whenever I visit actually ― more frequently when you left me on my own accord to apartment hunt.” Kurt smiled looking around at the people chatting around him ― friends with glasses of wine, lovers and their smoking, or the occasional lone writer sipping his coffee. “It’s also a reason why I love that apartment so much.”
In the end they ordered a croque monsieur each, deviled eggs salad for entrée to share, a small bottle of wine, and a citron crème for dessert ― too tired and hungry to be ashamed by the sheer amount of food cramped at their little table.
“So,” Quinn started after moaning in appreciation at her food. “Sebastian hadn’t contacted you yet?”
“Not yet.” Kurt pouted, not even bothering to hide his disappointed. “I couldn’t actually fault him to it since we never really got to exchanging numbers.”
“Huh.” Quinn smirked.
“What?”
“Nothing.” she chewed. “Just curious as to why out of all the men lining up for you, Sebastian seemed to have held a flame.”
“I don’t know.” Kurt answered thoughtfully. He had time to think about this. “Probably since he wasn’t a total stranger?” he took a sip of his wine. “And it was so nice that time at the airport.”
“Well. Knowing your aversion to Facebook stalki―” Quinn stopped at Kurt’s blush. “No. You did?” she asked aghast.
Kurt nodded shamefully. “Yes. We aren’t friends and the latest public post was from his freaking Dalton graduation ten years ago.”
“I don’t know whether to feel appalled or amazed.” she chuckled.
“Shut up. I’m suffering enough as it is.”
“This is probably the first time you are pining over a guy. After five years.” Quinn pointed out. “And I don’t know about you but if you really think it’s something else maybe you should start looking for ways to contact him.”
“But. He told me he’d call me. He’d call me. And I don’t want to seem desperate.” Kurt all but whined.
“Alright, Kurt.” she glared, taking a sip of her wine. “The good thing about being homosexual and proud is the lack thereof of hetero-normativity thus you can do whatever the hell you need and want to do. Last time I checked it is not going to happen unless you make it happen for yourself.”
“That Ivy league education is really becoming of you.” Quinn preened at Kurt’s comment.
“Have you been ignoring Santana?” Quinn asked as she shifted from a cobra to a down dog in a sequence for her early morning sun salutations.
“Why?” Kurt breathed, glancing at her from his own down dog.
“She’s threatening to castrate me for stealing you.” Quinn laughed taking a break and sipping from her bottle. “She just misses you, you know. And the more you talk to her the less likely she’ll move in here with us.” they both winced at the idea.
“That’s unlikely but nonetheless terrifying.” Kurt sighed as he catches his breath. “I’ll Skype her now.” he watched as Quinn rolled her mat before heading to the hallway to the guest bathroom. “Are you off to school now or do you want breakfast?”
“No. I’m okay. I’ll just take a teabag to-go.” she cried form the bathroom. “Thank you though, sunshine. I won’t be long just need to grab my schedule. Maybe we could meet for late lunch somewhere near?”
“I’d love that.” Kurt smiled as he heard Quinn start the shower then the humming ensues.
He was half tempted to check the dozen or so work related e-mail screaming at him from his open laptop on the counter but he has a week left of vacation before the hastiness and craziness of stepping into the shoes of being the creative director of Jacquemus menswear caught up with him.
He marveled a little at his life as he looked at the window to the breathtaking Paris skyline. He had managed to make a name out of himself even though the original plan of acting and singing on Broadway never came to fruition. After ending it with Blaine indefinitely ― Kurt unearthed his life in New York to move to London to study in Central Saint Martins per his boss Isabelle’s insistence. With a dashing recommendation letter from Isabelle and Anna Wintour herself he was able to snag a paid internship in Harper’s Bazaar UK while simultaneously finishing his studies ― with Santana and Quinn as witnesses ― it was no easy feat.
Everything seemed to shift for the better when immediately after graduating from Saint Martins he was able to snag a designer position and got hired by none other than Riccardo Tisci himself for Burberry. He stayed there for three years and felt dedicated and devoted to the brand but the opportunity to man the oar and be a creative director for a brand he loves and in Paris was too good to pass out so he said goodbye to Burberry this year in order to start the next chapter of his life.
I might be losing at love but I think I’m doing pretty great professionally, he thought smugly.
Closing the tab that is alerting him of 38 unread e-mails, he opened the Skype icon and rolled his eyes as an incoming call was alerted from Santana just as the application started.
“Hey, Satan.” he greeted as soon as he answered the call, Santana’s furious face pooping up on his screen.
“How dare you not answer my calls?” she glowered. “Or my messages?”
“I’m so sorry. I just got settled, you know.”
“You’ve been settled for a freaking week, Hummel.” Kurt watched her lay out two dresses in front of the camera. “Left or right?”
“Right.” he then proceeded to watch her take off her towel and get dressed right in front of him. Kurt doesn’t bat an eye anymore ― used to her antics and frustrated that his complaints albeit numerous will be ignored. “What’s the occasion and why are you rocking another red Balmain bodycon?”
“Hot date with my wife.”
“Tell Dani I miss her morning breakfast spreads.”
Santana scoffed. “Tell her yourself since you seem to be ignoring everyone these days.”
Kurt sighed, pouting a bit at her. Of the three of them Kurt tended to be as emotionless as a rock and opting to reeling it in, Quinn the mediator who is always pragmatic, then there’s Santana who can be insensitive to almost everyone but extremely sensitive nonetheless.
“What do I have to offer, dear Satan, for you to forgive me?”
“Jacquemus full Summer/Spring line samples.” she grinned. “You don’t get to get off of it easily, Hummel.”
“You got it, gaddamit.”
“Don’t even dare give Quinn first dibs.”
“First dibs on what?” Quinn muttered directly behind Kurt making the latter jump in surprise. “Hey, Satan.”
Santana smirked. “Hey, Daisy.”
“You’re looking hot.”
“You’re looking hotter.”
“Hot date?”
“With the wife.” Santana paused. “Hot date?”
Quinn chuckled. “I wish. I’m off to school for my teaching schedule this summer.” she kissed Kurt on a cheek before walking out of view of the camera and slipping on her espadrilles. “I’ll text you as soon as it’s over.” she said quietly and a little more loudly. “Bye Satan!” before the door closed behind her.
Kurt looked back to the laptop to find Santana adjusting her boobs on the screen. “Jesus, Satan!”
“How’s living with sex voice 24/7?”
“Well it’s a far cry from living with your constant banshee screeching that I tell you.”
Santana grinned at that. “You plan on telling me something?”
Here goes, thought Kurt. “I bet Quinn told you anyways already.” he grumbled.
“Hardly. She gave me a boring summary in her drowsy drawl. I need a full report from you!”
“Did you know who it was?”
“No. I didn’t get that information either. But I will kill you if it’s Blaine again. I’m still recovering from the last breakup. And if its Adam again stop it he’s stalking you.”
“The last break up was six years ago.” Kurt stuck his tongue out. “No, it isn’t Blaine.”
“THEN WHO.”
“It’s Sebastian.”
Santana paused midway on fixing her hair into a ponytail, then seemingly recovered ― just shrugged. “Makes sense.”
“What do you mean?”
“A snarky bitch for a snarkier bitch. Like an eye for an eye sort of thing.” she nodded. “I think you need that. Someone to challenge you. Blaine was too Vanilla, and the British dude Adam was even more Vanilla.”
“It’s been ten years, Satan. People change ―”
“Well not me.”
Kurt pursed his lip for a second. “Clearly.” he agreed, and she smiled taking it as a compliment. “Judging from that moment on the airport he isn’t as snarky as he used to be.”
“Do you want me to hunt down for his number?”
“No, please. Please, no.” knowing what Santana does for a living Kurt couldn’t risk it. “I just really thought it could be something you know? And he really was looking so cute.”
“Then for our sakes ― do something.”
Kurt sighed just watching Santana flip him off repeatedly.
“This is not over. I will drill you soon. I have to go and I really need to get laid tonight.”
“Love you and Dani.”
“Love you, lady lips.” she grinned before dropping the call.
Kurt looked around after that, shrugging then reopening the e-mail tab he closed earlier out of curiosity. 15 of them are from Santana cussing him about his lack of replies ― he’s sure of it, why he gave her his work email he will never know why. He was startled when the first e-mail was from his boss. Well, you open it if it’s from your boss right? He reasoned to himself before opening the e-mail. Just the usual welcome to Paris and the company but then there’s a quarry about asking for his address so he replied ignoring the nagging on his head of ‘you still have one week of vacation left!!!!’
Sebastian isn’t ashamed to say that he doesn’t have many friends. He keeps just three of them. First, his childhood friend and playmate Bernice ― who is somewhere in Venice right now, saving the whales or whatever it is she’s trying to save right now. They keep in touch through weekly e-mails and Sebastian is sure if sometime he manages to tie the knot, Bernice will be his best man or his best woman, whichever. Second, there is his college best friend ― Adrianna who is the mother of the only two children he can tolerate in the world who calls him Unca Sebastian. Third, and for some reason unknown to man ― he has a friend in Hunter Clarington. He likes to think that he keeps Hunter because of how powerful his family is in America but really it’s just nice to have a straight friend who will never be attracted to him and it’s nice to have a friend who will never steal a boy from him or befriend them like Bernice and Adrianna would.
And Sebastian is thankful for the third friend when he entered his Paris apartment and found a legal manila envelope with all of the information he needed. He read the note on the post it and snorted to himself. ‘Stop whining about him now for my sanity please.’
He saved the number on his phone under the name Kurt, smiling to himself. He then phoned the florist and gave them Kurt’s address.
He grinned to himself looking around the room before deciding to take a quick shower before taking a nap and meeting his family later for dinner; making a mental note to text him immediately after because it took him long enough.
Kurt received the huge vase of white Peonies on dinner with Quinn right when they were making the decision to man up and add Sebastian on Facebook already.
He gasped at the huge bouquet completely covering the man’s torso, he then thanked the delivery man, blushed a little then entered the door to a chuckling Quinn.
“I guess this is the part where you tell me ‘I told you so’.”
Kurt put the bouquet on the countertop before shrugging and picking the little card out of the blooms. “Could be from Jacquemus.”
Kurt, it read,
I just got back from New York. Took me long enough to track you down. I’ll call you later tonight to set a get together anytime this week? Can’t wait to see you again.
. ―Sebastian.
“This is the part where I tell you ‘I told you so’.” he exclaimed, walking to the living room where they were eating and all but shoving the card to an amused Quinn.
“He sure knows how to woo a guy.” she hummed in approval, folding the card and setting it down on the coffee table. “And now we just wait for his call. Stop smiling and eat your dinner before it gets cold.”
“Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Sebastian said smiling as he gazes at his apartment’s view, the blinking lights of the Eiffel Tower reflecting on his eyes. “Sorry when I said I’d call and I didn’t expect it to be this late. I just got home from dinner with my family.”
“It’s okay.” was the breathy reply. “I’m really glad you called.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
Kurt chuckled at the other line. “Being glad seems to be the theme of the night.”
Sebastian chuckled too, gaining the confidence he seem to have lost upon making the phone call. “Then make me even gladder by agreeing to have dinner with me. Tomorrow?”
“Since I don’t want to get off theme ― I’d be glad to.”
They both chuckled again. “I’ll pick you up?”
“It’s a date.” then a pause, Sebastian was grinning at this point. “Not that I meant ― I mean. It could ― Oh for chrissake ―”
“Kurt. Stop.” Sebastian chuckled. “It’s a date, of course it’s a date. I just like torturing you.”
“Sounds familiar.” Kurt hummed at that. “I guess some things don’t change, huh?”
Sebastian was smiling. “I’ll pick you up at 6:30.”
“Hmm. I’m not really sure I’ll be able to make it after all.” Sebastian groaned, making Kurt laugh. “Well then― okay.”
“You’re a tease.”
“You like it.”
“I really do.”
“Goodnight, Sebastian.”
“Goodnight, Kurt.”
Sebastian smiled to himself, sending a quick text of thanks to Hunter in Los Angeles or wherever he might be before putting the phone on his nightstand and jumping down to his bed face first with a big happy grin.
After the early morning yoga class on the studio where Quinn teaches the Ashtanga class three times a week, they now walk the familiar two blocks to their usual brunch place ― La Belleville. Kurt for the feeling and vibe of the place it gives him and Quinn for the pain d’espices they serve only for breakfast.
“This is your fault, Kurt. You got me hooked.” she kept on repeating as they did order two of the spiced cake and two café crème.
“Erm. I’m so sorry for finding you a healthier addiction?”
“Forgiven.” she said as she stuck her tongue out. “So are you excited about this date later tonight?”
“I am.” he pulled on a baggy but still stylish white top over his workout shirt. “Outfit ready and all.” Kurt watched as Quinn stared furiously at her phone. “Do you need help on killing someone?”
“I might. The studio’s asking if I could teach a class again. Merle’s out sick and apparently people ― without asking me first ― are willing to trade their Vinyasa to my class.” Quinn sighed, looking apologetically at Kurt. “Drink my coffee for me?” she pouted.
“Go. I can handle myself.” he smiled as Quinn kissed his cheek, sneaking a sip of the coffee and manhandling a cake with a tissue before jogging to the direction of the yoga studio.
Kurt marveled at his, Quinn, and Santana’s friendship blossoming over the years. After their first break-up when Blaine cheated on Kurt, Quinn made the trip from New Haven to New York just for the sole reason of being with him. They grew close after that with each of them making the trip to and fro each other’s state ― with Santana in tow after half a year of finally giving up on Rachel, and none of them would admit it but they took sides after the last break up and Rachel picked Blaine. They grew closer when Quinn finally moved to France immediately after her Yale graduation, and Kurt and Santana are in London.
It’s just the three of them for five years now. Everything is alright and on good terms with Blaine but the toll of too much history weighs more than the active want of staying in touch so they just don’t.
“Excusez-moi,” Kurt’s musings was interrupted by a beautiful elderly woman dressed in an oversized white collared dress with various bangles and bracelets extending till her forearms, and hair ― her silver hair cropped precisely straight grazing her shoulders ― reminding Kurt of Elizabeth Taylor as Cleopatra ― framing a beautiful face with the brightest gray for eyes.
“Yes? May I help you?” Kurt answered speaking in French.
“Do you speak French or do you want me to speak in English?”
“Either is fine.” he muttered, motioning for the woman to sit down, she did smiling at him. “May I help you, Madame?” he asked again, smiling back politely.
“You speak very good French, young one. Are you from here?”
Kurt shook his head, smiling politely. “I’m from America I just moved here actually. For work.”
“Oh! Magnificent! I see you here sometimes but more often now.” she smiled. “This might be too forward and my husband over there―” she pointed inside the café where an elderly handsome man in a casual three piece suit was clearly watching them but turned back to his book when he realized his wife was pointing at him. “Said he’d divorce me if I bothered the young gentleman over here.” Kurt chuckled with her.
“It’s fine, madame. Not often does a beautiful woman like you interrupt my useless musings. The company is appreciated.”
“You charm me young man.” she winked at Kurt, holding up her hand. “I’m Lana and that’s my husband over there, Nathaniel.”
“I’m Kurt.” he smiled, taking her hands in a gentle but firm handshake. “What was it you said your husband is going to divorce you for?” he smiled bigger at Lana’s chuckle.
“I couldn’t help myself thinking how I think you are perfect for my little grandson.”
Kurt flushed as the meaning dawned on him. “Oh.”
“And you keep on dodging him, Kurt.”
Before he could muster a reply, Kurt jumped at the sudden voice of a man ― Lana’s husband speaking behind his wife.
“Pardon me, monsieur, my wife seem to have lost her mind for a little.”
“Nathaniel, its fine. Kurt and I are friends now.” she rolled her eyes on her husband, making Kurt laugh.
“It’s okay, monsieur. Lana means well.” he smiled up at the man before smiling bigger as he looked at Lana who gave him a wink.
In the end Kurt had the most perfect morning he has ever had yet since moving to Paris. Lana and her husband entertained him with stories about their past ― and Kurt was floored when Nathaniel revealed that he was American too, asking him questions about his life, little snippets here and there about Kurt’s supposed ‘soul mate’ ― that in the end he was almost sad when he had to leave. There were promises of seeing each other there often ― for Kurt discovered that they owned the place and in the end they became just that — friends. Kurt is also a little in love with his first Paris friend’s style and wit.