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Kurt looks through the scores and sheets of music scattered on the lid of the choir room piano, picking out his personal things and putting them neatly into an empty Bankers Box. He’s not a quitter, that’s not what he’s doing, but he can tell a lost cause when he sees one. He should have known from the start how ridiculous an idea this was – leaving his successes at NYADA and Vogue, traveling back to the black hole that is Lima, and for what? A third chance with Blaine? (Was it third or fourth? Third? It had to be third. Who cares! It’s stupid!)
Blaine has crossed over so many lines – too many lines. Cheating should have been the final line. Kurt even said it himself. Cheater - unforgivable. So why did he give in? Did Kurt really need to find out that Blaine had hooked up with his high school bully to realize that this was probably not the guy for him, that it probably wasn’t the relationship he thought it was?
Well, screw it. Never again.
But he’s wasted time – time he won’t get back. And he’s burnt bridges he might not be able to mend. But even that’s in the past, like it or not, and now, he has to forget about it all and look towards the future.
He tries to suss out a silver lining, something he can tell people about this trip when he’s back in school (or, more than likely, something he can say to defend himself against the rumor mill). He can always explain how he had a small hand in saving the arts by resurrecting his high school Glee Club from ruin…before it officially turned into The Rachel Berry Show. He doubts anyone will even remember he was there, which could actually turn out to be a good thing later on. When he’s a famous Broadway star, he might not want any part of him linked to this tragedy. But in the annals of show choir history, this chapter will be labeled The Big Battle that was Rachel Berry and the New Directions vs. Blaine Anderson and the Warblers.
With any luck, Kurt might end up footnoted as Rachel’s anonymous assistant. He just prays there’s no actual photographic evidence to prove that.
The erasure of his contribution to the revival of the New Directions might not hurt his pride so much if that didn’t seem to be on par with exactly who he was to a lot of people – easily forgettable, a prop, an object, a thing to be manipulated and controlled.
A puppet.
It would be nice to know that what he did here in this choir room, for the many years he spent here, meant something to someone.
He hears a throat clear at the choir room door and ignores it, assuming that it’s someone stopping by to look for Rachel. It’s always someone stopping by to look for Rachel. Well, Kurt’s tired of directing everyone to her, or taking messages for her, like he’s her secretary. She’s in the school somewhere. Or not. They can find out for themselves.
“Mr. Hummel?”
That voice – that completely unique, one-of-a-kind voice. It’s not one of the newbies, but she was one once, and Kurt has to admit he’s missed her.
“Unique?” Kurt turns around and sees her, wearing a stunning Lane Bryant Colorblock dress, carrying a Marco Marci hobo bag over her left shoulder, and looking every inch the way Kurt felt when he walked the halls of McKinley as a high school student – way too good for this compost heap. “Oh my God! Where have you been?”
“Around,” she says, walking into the room and giving him a hug. “I had to transfer schools,” she adds with a shrug.
“I heard,” Kurt says sympathetically, appalled at the idea that Sue would actually kick Unique and the other New Directions students out of McKinley. “Are you alright over there? At your new school? I mean, are they…”
“Nice to me?” Unique finishes for him. “Yeah. Yeah, they are. Sue had me transferred to some continuation school for at-risk students in Lima Heights Adjacent, but I got accepted to a private school, one for students with…exceptional talents.” She mulls over the words, finds that they fit, and goes on. “It’s very exclusive, very difficult to get into, and they’re very accepting.”
“Wow,” Kurt says. “Congratulations. I’m impressed.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hummel,” she says, shifting her gaze away bashfully, fidgeting with the strap to her bag.
“You know, Unique, you can call me Kurt. I’m not your teacher.”
“Okay…Kurt,” Unique says. “So, just when I find out that you’ve come back, you’re leaving.”
“Yeah,” Kurt says, patting down the books stacked in his box. “There’s just…really nothing for me here anymore.”
Unique nods, understanding. “When do you go back?”
“Tonight. My plane leaves in a couple of hours. I should be home by dinner time.” Kurt nods, then Unique nods, and even though Kurt considers them old friends, something about this conversation feels a little awkward. “So, what can I do for you?”
“Actually, Kurt,” Unique says with a nervous giggle, “I think it might be what I can do for you.”
Kurt waits for her to continue, confused, but she just looks back, probably trying to decide how to begin.
“Why don’t we sit down?” Kurt gestures to the familiar rows of red plastic choir room chairs.
“Alright.” Unique walks ahead of him, heading for the chair she used to occupy as a student. “You know, I don’t think I ever really said thank you.” Unique pulls her skirt beneath her and sits down.
“Whatever for?” Kurt asks, taking the seat next to hers.
“Well, in so many ways, you’re my inspiration,” Unique says. “I mean, without you and Mercedes, I wouldn’t have come here and…well, things could have gone badly for me.”
“But, your time here wasn’t the greatest, I’ve heard,” Kurt says apologetically.
“True,” Unique admits. “I was bullied. I didn’t get to play the role I wanted, I had a difficult time, but, I think you understand, probably more than anyone, that I didn’t have many other options. And some of the options I did have looked good on the outside, but on the inside, they were just another way of hiding. Another way of not being true to who I am. And the people who knew that, who should have helped me, they…took advantage of me.”
Kurt smiles, reaching out to put a hand over hers. Strange that that’s exactly what he was thinking before he made the decision to leave.
“You helped me see myself for everything that I am,” she continues, her tone changing, “even the things that I…wasn’t ready to admit to myself. And there’s really no way I could ever thank you enough for that.”
“Well, just mention me in your Tony or Grammy acceptance speech,” Kurt says, giving her hand a pat, “and we’ll call it even.”
“I will,” Unique says, “but, until then, I’ve brought you a gift.” Unique reaches into her hobo bag and pulls out a gift bag – a gold, sparkly gift bag, with shimmery gold paper sticking out the top. “Now, I would recommend being very careful with this,” Unique says. “It’s a bit on the fragile side. I kind of made it in school. And, I wouldn’t open it on campus.”
“Ooo,” Kurt says, feeling the bag carefully under Unique’s watchful eye. It feels like a glass jar – maybe a Mason jar. “Is it jam? Or wine?”
“No,” Unique laughs. “Not for a couple of years, at least.”
Kurt holds the bag up, but his view is obscured by the opaque gold paper. He doesn’t shake the bag, tries not to swing it too much, but from inside he swears he can hear a faint squeaking sound.
“You…didn’t bring me a rat, did you?” he asks, looking at Unique, only somewhat seriously.
“Funny you should say that,” Unique says, “but no. I didn’t. To be honest, I’m not sure how you’d use it. It’s actually more of a symbolic gift, a reminder to let nothing and nobody in your life hold you back from your dreams.” Unique waves her hand. “I’m sure you’ll think of some use for it. I should go.” She says it in a rush, standing from her seat and holding tight to her bag. “My dad’s waiting for me. Good luck back in New York. I know you’re going to be amazing.”
“Thank you, Unique,” Kurt says, putting the bag down gently and walking her to the door. “That’s very nice of you to say.”
“It’s the truth,” she says, giving him one final hug. “I think everything’s going to go much better for you now.” She leaves him with a small wave, then heads down the hallway, just as the kids start emptying out of their classrooms around her. He sees her walk in the direction of the far end, where the double outside doors are, but loses her in the mob that floods the hallway. He doesn’t see the doors open, but when the crowd starts to thin, she’s gone.
“Well, that was a little…weird,” Kurt mutters, thinking that her exit reminds him of a scene from one of the Harry Potter books, but he can’t remember which one. Blaine took all of those books and movies with him when he left. Whatever. Kurt will chalk it up to Unique being Unique. She always did have a certain magic about her, as far as Kurt is concerned, and pretty much anyone else who’s ever heard her sing. He won’t turn that special thing about her into something banal by pigeonholing her inside someone else’s story.
While he’s at it, he won’t let anyone do that to him, either.
***
Seven hours later, he’s finally back home, in his loft, in his city, vowing never to go back to Ohio ever again. It’s strange being in the loft by himself, with no one else around – no Rachel, no Santana, no Blaine. No singing, no talking, no arguing.
No drama.
There’s good and bad to it. He doesn’t mind living alone, but he’s never had to before. If the bills don’t overwhelm him, the quiet might. Kurt won’t know exactly which for a couple of days.
He drops down onto the sofa and puts his feet up on the coffee table. He can see himself sitting there for the next few hours. Hell, there’s a throw and a pillow right next to him. He might just sleep there. It’s not like anyone’s going to bother him.
There’s only one thing keeping him from doing just that.
He peeks over his shoulder at the luggage and box he abandoned in the corner by the door. He hates leaving anything undone, especially with the busy day waiting for him tomorrow, but he’s not going to worry about them for now. He’ll unpack in the morning. But he does need his toiletries, and his issue of Vogue. In about five minutes, he’ll try and convince himself that those things are important enough to get off the couch for.
He spots Unique’s glittery gift bag sticking out from the top of the box. Oh God! Didn’t she say it was kind of fragile? He took the box on the plane with him and shoved it under his seat. He doesn’t think he tossed it around too much. He may have rested his feet on it once or twice, but still. He’d better make sure the contents – whatever they are – are intact.
Kurt gets up from his seat and strolls over, grabbing the bag by its handles and carrying it back to the sofa. He puts it on the coffee table and sits down again. He regards the bag, shimmering in the dim light, throwing sparkles of light around like a disco ball. Kurt smiles. That sparkly gold bag screams Unique. Kurt peeks around at it without touching it. He doesn’t see a card, no little tag that says, “To Kurt, I hope you enjoy this ___” to give him a clue. Well, whatever that squeaking noise he heard was when she gave it to him earlier has stopped. Maybe it wasn’t coming from the bag after all. Kurt pulls out the shimmery gold paper and sees the top of a Mason jar. His mom used so many of those when he was little, he would recognize one a mile away. It doesn’t have a lid, the mouth covered in plastic wrap with holes punched in it, secured to the jar by a rubber band. Maybe a plant? he thinks. Something she grew. That would be so sweet, and symbolic. He likes to think he’s grown since high school, into the kind of man who would let nothing stand in his way.
Kurt reaches into the bag, grabs the top of the jar, and starts to pull. It’s light. Extremely light. Too light to be filled with dirt and something living. But when he pulls the jar completely out of the bag and into the light, Kurt’s jaw drops.
“What the…how the…”
“Kurt?” A tiny voice, barely a squeak, calls out to him from the most unlikely, impossible source imaginable.
Kurt doesn’t know what to say, how to react, so he laughs.
Laughs with the nerves bubbling around in his stomach.
Laughs into the face of his ex-fiancé, peeking back at him.
“Kurt?” Blaine’s tiny hands feel up the side of the slick glass, knocking against it experimentally. “Kurt…what’s going on, Kurt?”
Kurt doesn’t answer him. He’s quite literally struck dumb. It’s unbelievable. If Unique had told him that she had put Blaine in a jar, he would have thought she was pulling his leg. But there he is, as inconceivable as it seems - Blaine Devon Anderson, dressed in dark blue jeans, a button down shirt, and one of his signature bowties. From the measuring line on the side of the jar that he reaches, Kurt estimates that Blaine stands a little over three inches tall.
There’s nothing else in the jar but a maroon corduroy blazer, something that looks like a doll-sized cell phone, and what could possibly be the remains of a turkey sandwich.
Did she drug him? Or did she put that in there in case he needed something to eat? If so, that was thoughtful of her, considering she shrank a grown man and trapped him in a jar.
Kurt laughs again.
“Kurt?” Blaine says, trying one more time to knock on the thick glass.
A smile of absolute wonder blooms on Kurt’s face. “Oh…my…God…”