Chapter Text
It was March 15; the Ides of March. ‘Beware the Ides of March’ was advice he should have heeded.
As Kurt slowly made his way back to his apartment, his heart was heavy. The things he'd said to Blaine, breaking up with Blaine; it had all felt right in the moment, but doubt and regret crept into his consciousness.
‘It's just shock,’ he reasoned with himself, ‘my life just dramatically changed. My mind and body don't know what to do with the information yet.’
But it wasn’t just shock- his feelings of remorse mounted by the day, and he ran on autopilot through school and work that week.
'Not A Day Goes By' from Merrily We Roll Along haunted him, and it ran through his head in a loop by Saturday. His thoughts were interrupted when his phone chirped to let him know he had a text.
Hey Kurt, I haven't heard from you in days. You missed Purim
It was Elliott. Kurt had managed to isolate himself so thoroughly in his sorrow, he had forgotten that he yet had a friend that remained in New York.
And then a second text arrived.
Are you okay??
Kurt nearly cried. He had felt so alone this past week; like no one cared.
He texted back,
Not really
The reply came back,
What happened?
Kurt paused a moment before he texted,
I'd rather not say over text
And immediately, he received,
Come over. There's something I need to tell you about too
Kurt blinked. What could Elliott need to tell him?
Coming right over
------
Kurt knocked on the door to Elliott's apartment. After a moment, it was opened.
By someone who was decidedly not Elliott.
He had eyes of a sharp green (was his left pupil larger than his right, or was that a trick of the light?), a slim figure, an incredibly unruly and huge mop of red hair, pale skin, a face devastated with freckles, and he wore a dark blue t-shirt with a small tear in the collar, blue jeans that were about ripped to hell, dirty canvas sneakers, and a mischievous grin with chipped front teeth.
“You are not Elliott,” Kurt stated.
“Nah,” he answered, and revealed an Irish accent, “I'm his new flatmate.” He looked Kurt up and down. He met his eyes again. “You are exactly where you are supposed to be.”
Kurt stared wide eyed at Trouble, before he craned his neck to try to look over his shoulder, into the apartment, and cried out, “Elliott?!”
Elliott emerged from the bathroom. As he walked over and assessed Kurt’s face, he looked at the other man with some mild exasperation. “What did you do?”
Offended, the man answered defensively, “Nothing! He was confused to see me, so I told him I was your flatmate and that he was at the right place.”
“And how did you say it, Keiran?”
“...in English.”
As Elliott sighed, Kurt asked him, “Elliott? Is he really your new roommate? Or should I call the police?”
Keiran’s head whipped over to look at Kurt with raised eyebrows that furrowed as he said, “The fuck?”
“This is already going badly,” Elliott muttered, before he addressed Kurt. “Hey, Kurt, this is my new roommate, Keiran. He's one of my best friends. Keiran, this is Kurt. He is also one of my best friends. I've wanted to introduce you two to each other for a long time, and I am now thinking that was a bad idea.”
“His name is Karen?”
Now Keiran really looked irritated. “Keiran. Kee-air-an. It's a proud Irish name. Fucking yanks.”
Kurt couldn't help but glare. “Excuse me?”
“Yeah, this is going great,” sighed Elliott as he ushered Kurt inside and shut the door. Elliott then looked at them both with a hand on his hip and a raised eyebrow. “I'm sure you both know how I don't tolerate drama? Let it go and say hi.”
As Kurt tried to school his features, Keiran took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was the first to speak,
“So, you're Kurt?” He smiled, clearly going for charming when he continued, “The Boring Broadway Boy?”
Kurt's features flunked and dropped out. “What.”
Elliott’s hand went to his face. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “G-ddammit, Keiran.” He looked at Kurt apologetically and said, “I never said you were boring.”
“Boring isn't bad, you're pretty boring,” said Keiran to Elliott before he went on to say, “he can't even legally drink yet and he's getting married. To his high school sweetheart, no less. Not a life on the edge.”
Elliott looked at Keiran, tilted his head, and said in voice that sounded almost fond, if mildly confused, “You think I'm boring?”
“Boring isn't bad; interesting people are annoying as fuck.” Keiran gestured towards himself. “Exhibit A.”
Elliott laughed then, and reached and ruffled Keiran’s hair as he said, “Shut up, Keiran.”
“Fuck off,” Keiran returned with grin as he swatted Elliott’s hand away.
They were taken out of their bonding when they heard a shaky breath. They turned to look at Kurt, and saw eyes that stared at nothing, a lip that shook ever so slightly.
Elliott’s smile dropped off his face. “Kurt?” he asked.
Another shaky breath. “I'm not,” he said.
A short pause before Keiran asked, amusement also evaporated, “You're not what?
“Getting married. I'm not getting married,” he gasped, “I made a huge mistake, and I'm not getting married. I'm not getting married. I'm not-” Kurt broke off into sobs.
Elliott went to him immediately, wrapped one arm around Kurt's shoulders, and the other moved to gently press a hand over Kurt's heart. He guided him to the couch as he murmured, “Let's sit down, I'm here, we can sit here all night, cry as much as you need to, I'm here, I'm here.”
Keiran moved along towards the couch with them, and awkwardly stood by an arm rest. Until his expression wasn't awkward anymore. It was...speculative? ...angry? He moved to stand in front of the couch, by the corner of the coffee table, before them.
“So, Kurt,” he began, “what did he do?”