Chapter Text
Kurt's earliest memories are vague, half-buried under the novelty of childhood. Still, sleepless nights consisted of staring at his shoes, avoiding the eyes that looked down upon him as his father's hand guided him across borders. For as long as he could remember, he was always adventuring through unfamiliar lands, spurred onwards through fear and apprehension.
There was no epiphany to be had; his identity had always been, and would always be an explorer. The kind he found in the storybooks clutched tight to his chest, the heroes he met whilst sneaking glances at the poetical lines- mind drifting before he discovered that his parents had continued walking without him, and he chased after the pair. Those charming novels were his escape; read and reread, flowers and leaves pressed between pages from the creeks and ponds he’d wandered off to. But even that joy was momentary.
Sling-shotted around various schools, his first adversary- and one that would become a lasting rivalry- was his peers. Even by studying the language’s insults aside from the basic greetings and farewells, the classrooms still had him on edge; constantly listening and analyzing the hushed conversations for pointed words that could’ve been directed at himself. It only resulted in appearing as if he knew more of the language than he genuinely did- hopelessly trying to decipher the jeering yells of the schoolkids that tore his books and pushed him into fights- but he’d preferred confusion over the nasty truth. Any hope he had of making friends was snuffed out quickly, as again, they’d moved on before he could properly introduce himself to anyone.
In retaliation, he followed his idols. Fleeing from his bedroom at night to the nearby forests or brooks to live out his daydreams. He'd never intended to be found, not whilst the world outside of his parent's grasp bloomed with life. He'd eat what he could catch in the streams or gather from the bushes, knowledge on foraging aiding him well, and climb trees to sleep under the glinting stars.
Yet the world he had left behind was persistent- not determined, but leeching- and it would grab him by his ankles and heave until he was back in his room, shivering alone, left to stomach the toxins he'd mistakenly ingested; his 'punishment'. On the rare occasion that one of his parents would find him instead of a deprecating officer, he’d clutch the wildflowers and trees, begging them to see the same wonders that he did. Pleading for their cold gaze to catch the way the spiderwebs sparkled in the sunrise or the ever-so-quiet chatter of birds that made their homes in the study spruce trees, so why couldn't he?
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As he grew into an adult, another way to escape opened up to him. Betting was a slippery slope, but adrenaline persevered and spurred his hopes onwards. He'd never overspent- atleast, not at first- the problem was his own bias. He has always put his faith in the horses with the lowest odds: the underdogs. They deserved a bit of faith too. Besides, his stories had always rewarded those with the slimmest chance of victory. However, the odds were never in his favor, and when his parents heard of the losses- their rage was uncanny. As much as he tried to advocate for his book drafts and true talent in the writing industry- they'd already signed him up for some sort of camp. Kurt was barely given a hint of what was to come before the bus arrived and took him in tow.