Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As the bus gets closer, I see the lights of the big city shining through the windows.
This is it. I'm almost there; it only took five years and the final push that was my grandparents telling me what I already knew. There was no reason for me to stay, with dead parents and a dead-end job in a coffee shop. They're the only thing I have and they want me to live my dream, so here I am. It's packed with people on the bus – I'm listening to my records, the only things I possess that I truly care about. A smile appears on my face as I let my head fall back against the seat, staring out of the window. Trying to sleep isn't an option – feelings of excitement stop me.
Mindlessly looking at the scenery and thinking about my plan of action upon arrival, the sign I've been waiting my whole life to see passes by. I get as close to the window as possible, savouring every letter of the "Hollywood" sign. The bus makes its way into the city, blinding lights and colourful people everywhere. My headphones are moved to rest around my neck so I can get feel the vibe of the place. Music can be heard from different bars, dulled by the windows and I'm fascinated.
"I take it this is your first time here boy?" Peeling my eyes from the streets, a woman and man across from me are smiling.
"Is it really that obvious?" I chuckle.
The man laughs, as the woman (his wife?) answers, "Not particularly. You just," she smiles, "look like all of the other youngsters, coming here and being amazed by your first sight of this old place." My gaze flicks back to the window and I nod, slightly.
"Where are you from?" The man is speaking now.
"Oklahoma," he nods, before asking another question.
"What brings you here?"
That makes me think. Why wouldn't I want to come here? All my life, I couldn't help but feel… drawn to this place. I always hoped I'd get here eventually.
"I've always wanted to live here. Now just, seemed like the right time."
The couple shared an understanding look. Maybe they felt the same?
"If you ever need a friendly face, or any advice, look us up; Marvin and Judy Hamilton." The man – Marvin – extends his hand.
"Blaine Anderson," I shake his hand, "And thank you, I will."
The bus pulls up to the pavement – I'm finally here. I allow people to climb off before me, gathering my thoughts and trying to process them in my head. A final goodbye to Marvin and Judy, I grab my bags and head off.
There's so much going on – people running, walking, making noise. The cars contribute to that and also music, from bars and clubs. Trying to take it all in is overwhelming; I've dreamt of this moment for so long and it's finally here. No map and no idea where I'm going. I start to walk, using my instinct as direction and turn a corner, and see it.
The Bourbon Room.
The place where my rock idols have performed. Moving closer, I let the fantasy image in my mind be replaced with the real sight. I hear chanting and look to my right – a group of women, stood behind a barrier, are holding signs that say "God didn't listen to Rock" and "Rockers to hell"
A laugh almost escapes, as I think about the people who don't understand the outstanding sound that is, rock music.
Someone knocks into my back, no, wait, grabs me. Well, grabs my bags. I'm caught off guard, pushed to the ground as a guy takes one of the bags, yanking until I let go and runs off.
Another guy runs after him, shouting something abusive before walking back to me and holding an arm out. Oh, right, I'm on the ground. I take it with a "thanks," and let him pull me up.
And he is something else. Perfectly coiffed, chestnut coloured hair, pale skin with a dusting of freckles, strong jaw line, pink lips and eyes the brightest blue I've ever seen.
"Are you alright?"
He's talking to me and then I realise – I've just been pushed to the ground and mugged.
"Yeah, yeah I'm fine," I shake my head, "Wow, I've been here for half an hour and already been mugged."
He chuckles and I swear it's the best sound I've heard since I got off the bus.
"That's LA for you. I hope there wasn't anything important in that bag."
I look to the one I'm still holding and note that it's the one with the majority of my clothes and money.
"No, it’s fine, I have most of my things in here,“ I gesture to the bag, trying to remember what was in the other one. Then I groan.
"All of my records were in that bag."
The guy looks sympathetic, "That sucks. It really does."
We're silent for a moment, then, "Where you heading?"
I honestly don't know, so I shrug, "a cheap motel, or something. I only have about 20 bucks to my name so I need a job." I notice the guy's t-shirt and no way.
"You work at the Bourbon room?"
"Yeah, and hey! Just your luck – one of the waitresses quit. We need a quick replacement, if you're interested." He half-smirks, as if he already knows my answer.
"Hell yeah!" I say, enthusiastically, gaining a few looks from passers-by.
“Good. Well let's go inside and talk to the manager." He starts to walk, but then stops and turns, "but first, introduce yourself to me."
I extend my hand.
"Blaine Anderson. " He takes it, smiling.
"Nice to meet you, Blaine Anderson. I'm Kurt. Kurt Hummel."

Chapter Text

Kurt makes his way through the back door of the club and I follow closely behind. We walk down hallway after hallway until we make it into the main room and I freeze, mouth open. It's better than I imagined; the stage, lights, a band playing instruments. There's a huge crowd of people watching, dancing, jumping and singing along. Others are sat at tables and drinking or talking or making out with their significant other – or maybe a stranger they met ten minutes ago but don't seem to give a damn. Even the staff have huge smiles on their faces, bopping to the beat and dancing behind the counter. I'm so in awe that I don't realise Kurt is shouting my name, I only pay attention when he grabs my arm and drags me in a different direction. My eyes stay on the surroundings.
"Sorry," I blush – I must look like an idiotic tourist right now.
"It's cool, I was exactly the same when I first came here." I nod in response, walking now instead of being dragged, but I stick close to his back as we make our way through a mass of bodies. I'm trying to manoeuvre my way past two women who are openly grounding on each other when I crash into Kurt, who has stopped moving.
"Sorry," I wince, blushing again but he only laughs.
"You seem to be saying that a lot tonight." My cheeks turn redder and I really don't want him to see me like this so I turn away.
I move to the side, trying to see what's happening and Kurt's talking to two guys. One has blonde hair that sweeps across his forehead and is tall and skinny, sitting on the counter of the bar. The other is a shorter brunette with way too much eyeliner on. I tune into the conversation and learn that these two guys own the bar.
"Nick, Jeff, I may have found you a replacement," they take a confused look to me, then back to Kurt.
"A replacement for what?" the blonde one asks, jumping down from the counter.
"For Vicky, who quit about… 2 hours ago, Jeff." Jeff – and Nick, as Kurt has mentioned – look surprised.
"Vicky quit." Nick repeats.
"Yes, she did. You know, Nick, as the manager of this place, you don't know a lot about it, do you?" Kurt smirks. They share a glance, then look to me again, Nick speaking.
"Yeah, no, he isn't her replacement." I look down at myself, wondering what's wrong with the way I look.
"What do you mean, no?" Kurt's voice is getting louder and I make a mental note to never get into an argument with him – I'm pretty sure I'll lose.
"I'm not hiring him! Look at him," Nick gestures to me, "I bet you lived a sweet, happy life, wherever the hell you came from. I bet mommy and daddy gave you everything your heart desired, I bet you were a jock in high school with a cheerleader girlfriend that you treated like a princess, didn't you Mr Popular?"
I blink once, twice. Is this how I come across? Because that is the furthest from correct you can get. It builds anger in me and I spit out a humourless laugh."Not quite," Nick looks at me, raised eyebrows and comes closer, stepping into my personal space.

"Tell me how it was then, Preppy."
"I came from Oklahoma. My parents died in a car crash when I was twelve and I was definitely not a jock. I was the weird kid, listening to rock music and I had a crappy job at a stupid coffee house that I hated." I say this in one breath, before adding, "Yeah, and the girlfriend? Way off."
Kurt's staring at me and I catch his eye for a moment.
Jeff moves a little beside Nick, "And why is that?"
I'm stuck for a minute, wondering if it's safe to admit this – I don't know these guys and what I say next could land me in a hospital bed.
"Because she wasn't a boy." There, it's out. I flinch instinctively, waiting for the pain that I'm so used to but I feel nothing. They're looking at me, smirks on their faces. Kurt's mouth is agape, not helping my confusion and I'm about to say something when Nick pats me on the shoulder.
"You're alright, kid. Take the job, just," he looks up to my hair, "get rid of the gel, will you?"
"Kurt, will you get him his gear, please? And let him know the schedule." Jeff follows where Nick had left and Kurt nods, mouth still open, slightly.
Did I just get a job because I told them I'm gay, or am I just imagining that just happened?
"That went well," Kurt comments.
"Tell me about it," I agree, "At least 'job hunt' is off the list." I draw a tick on my imaginary check list in the air.
"It is. Come on, I'll get you your uniform. You're on the same shifts as me, so you'll start tomorrow because I'm done for the day."
"Alright," We weave through the crowd, heading back down the corridors we first walked through. Kurt tells me the schedule, what is expected of me and to ask if I need any help. He hands me a pack of Bourbon t-shirts that I take with a "thanks."
"You don't, by any chance, know any motels around here?" I ask, hopeful, "with a room for, say, $5 a night?" I may be sleeping on the streets for a while. Or the bus station.
"Afraid not. What're you going to do?" I shrug.
"Find a comfy bench somewhere, probably," and he looks like he can't believe what I'm saying.
"Seriously?" I nod and he figures that I'm actually not kidding.
"No, that's not happening," Kurt shakes his head, "You're coming home with me."
My lips move into a smirk. "Being a little forward there, Kurt, aren't we? But, if you insist." I wiggle my eyebrows.
It's Kurt's time to blush and duck his head, which is adorable.
"I don't- I mean, I have a spare room. Rachel and I, we have a spare room. That you can have. If you want." My shoulders drop because of course, he's got a girlfriend. Look at him. Stupid Rachel, I haven't even met her but I can feel my dislike. It's silly, but there it is.
"Are you sure? I mean, your girlfriend won't mind?" A polite and honest expression is on my face because no matter my feelings, I was brought up with manners and what would my grandmother think if I was rude?
I didn't expect Kurt to laugh – not even a chuckle, or giggle but full stomach-clutching laughing.
He wipes the tears away from his eyes, "Oh god, you were being serious." I raise my eyebrow, clearly missing the joke.
"Um, yes?"
"Rachel isn't my girlfriend, she's my best friend." Oh. Maybe I will like Rachel, then.
"She plays the guitar in my band and does backup vocals. And she has too much boob for my liking." I'm trying to understand, then it clicks. Oh.
"You mean, you're?"
"Gay? Yes, just like you, Blaine," he teases. I colour a little, because now Kurt's extremely attractive and gay. And I'm going to be living with him.
I'm going to be living with him. Oh, this is not good. This won't end well. I'll try not to think about it too much, maybe it'll all be okay.
"Are you sure she won't mind? I can help pay for stuff when I start earning, I promise, and-"
"Blaine! Blaine, it's fine. Rachel and I have been in the same position, but we had each other. We understand and that's why Rachel won't mind at all," he looks behind me, "In fact, you can ask her yourself."
I turn and a small, dark haired girl carrying a guitar case moves to stand next to Kurt.
"Who's your new friend?“
"This, Rachel, is Blaine Anderson. Our new house mate." I offer a small wave, then I'm engulfed in a hug. She's on her toes, arms wrapped around me when she whispers into my ear.
"Welcome to Hollywood."

Chapter Text

A ten minute walk later and we're standing in front of a block of apartments – not the best looking neighbourhood around but, hey, I can't complain. Without Kurt and Rachel, I'd be on a park bench right now. We enter the building, making our way to an old elevator and piling in, pulling the iron gate across. Rachel looks over, seeing the uncertainty on my face.
"It looks pretty run down, but it's completely safe," she reassures me, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. It stops at the sixth floor and we walk down the hallway to apartment 6G. Kurt reaches into his pocket and pulls out a key.
"Welcome to your first home in LA," he says, spreading his arms as we walk inside. The room is large, with a brown sofa and recliner that look worn from use. There's a glass coffee table covered in sheet music and empty cans and a small TV on a stand against the back wall. I turn, looking over the small kitchen nook to the right of the room and a small corridor with five doors. 
The large window on the back wall catches my eye and, wow, the view is amazing. I wander over to it, gazing at the bright lights from a passing bus. A smile takes over my face – I'm really here. And it's only when Kurt starts talking that I snap out of my daydreaming. 
"So, we have the main area to the right, kitchen to the left and if you follow me…" he walks over to the corridor of doors.
"This is Rachel's room," he points to the right, "and next to it is the bathroom. That's my room," he points to the door behind him, and then the one next to it, "and that is your room." I nod, but wonder what's in the final room. Kurt must notice my eyes on it.
"That's our music room, for when our band rehearses." 
I don't really have anything to say to that, so just nod.
"Well, I 'll let you settle in and tomorrow, we'll go and get a key cut and hit the record store." The key place I understand, but why would Kurt want to take me to a record store?
"Why the record store, exactly?" and I get a smile in response.
"So we can mark down the records you lost, of course," Oh. Right, I forgot about that. I feel a little sad, but thinking about spending the day with Kurt makes me smile.
"Okay, well, thanks. I'm- yeah." I mumble like a fool, moving towards the door of my new room.
"Night, Blaine!" Rachel says, diving onto the couch. 
"Goodnight, Rachel," I open the door, "Kurt." I look at my room.
It's small, but my room back home wasn't huge. I like the small space, everything I own seems to fit nicely in here. I unpack and get changed, sitting on my bed and staring out of the window in my pyjamas. This room also has a great view and I think it may be my favourite part of the room. It feels a little empty, so I decide to purchase some things to make it more home-y as soon as possible. 
Looking at the clock, I ring my grandmother before it gets too late and spend the next hour telling her everything – from how amazing the city is, the mugging incident, finding a job and a place to stay and new friends. She can't see me, but when I talk about Kurt, she can tell I like him. How she always knows, without me saying anything will never stop amazing me. Eventually, I say goodnight and fall asleep with a smile on my face.

I'm obviously not used to the time difference yet, I think to myself as I awake very early the next morning. I want to take a look around the apartment before everyone wakes up, so I pull on some jogging pants, not even bothering with a shirt and pad out of my room. I make my way over to the kitchen and begin hunting for a glass.

"Far cupboard on the right."
I have never jumped so high in my life, spinning around quickly to see Kurt, sitting on the recliner with a book in his hand. Placing a hand on my chest to feel my rapid heartbeat, I am suddenly aware that I have no top on. I self-consciously cross my arms across my chest – like it will actually make a difference. 
"Jesus, Kurt. I didn't know you were up. I mean, it's really early." He chuckles lowly, setting his book down and looking at me. I pull my arms a little tighter around myself. 
"I'm an early riser, what can I say?" he answers with a shrug, eyes roaming across my body. I remember why I came here and turn, reaching for the cupboard Kurt had said. I fill it up with water and Kurt has moved from the chair to the other side of the breakfast bar.
"If you want to get ready, we can head off. Get you that key? And I promised Rachel we'd meet her for lunch."
"Sure, I'll go do that." I feel like I'm constantly making a fool of myself because of the way he's looking at me – I can't think straight. I wash the glass off, heading to the bathroom. 
"And, Blaine?" Kurt calls, just as I'm about to shut the door.
"Yeah?" 
"Don't be self-conscious; you have a great body," he winks at me.

Showered and ready, I shove my money into the pocket of my jeans, along with my phone and head into the main living area where Kurt has gone back to reading, and Rachel is sitting at the breakfast bar reading a newspaper and eating cereal.
"Good morning, Blaine," Rachel says and I return her 'morning', and turn to Kurt. He's looking at my body, again and I follow his eyes, trying to see what's wrong. I can see nothing but when I look back up, he's stood next to me.
"Ready to go?"
"Yup." 
We wave goodbye to Rachel, confirming that yes, we will meet her for lunch. We're going somewhere that I've never heard of, but must be somewhere they go regularly, as Kurt says we'll meet her at the usual table.

We talk, getting to know each other, as we head to the key cutting place and then again on the way to the record store. I learn that Kurt is from Lima, Ohio. His mom died when he was only 8 years old, but his father remarried and Kurt is happy that he's happy. He moved away when he was 18, had 7 jobs before the Bourbon Room and wants to be a famous singer, with the likes of Freddie Mercury. I tell him that my dreams are the same and that's why I came here – I confided in him about my parents, grandparents. I left out high school memories, because they aren't very happy.
We stop talking as we enter the record shop, my eyes going bright with wonder. This place is  huge. Kurt laughs, asking me to list some of the records I lost. 

He then hands me a sharpie, telling me to put my name on the ones I need replacing, saying it will make it easier later, when I can afford to buy them again.
I ask him about his band and find out that he also plays the guitar but Rachel is the lead guitarist, and Kurt is lead singer. The other two members are Sam, a bassist and Mike who plays the drums.
"How many gigs have you played?" I ask as we stroll down aisle after aisle of records. "Um, none." He answers, picking up record and writing my name. 
"Oh. Why not?" I'm watching him closely because, from what I've heard, they should be pretty good. Well, the way Kurt talks of them, they should be good.
"I have stage fright. So, it's kind of hard to perform."
My face turns sad, because this is stopping his dreams.
"Do you only sing in front of your band?" 
He looks down to the floor.
"Yeah. I mean, I have all of these dreams about how it would be if we played and they're amazing.“

"Yeah? What are they like?" I ask and am very surprised when he starts to sing. No-one else is and I wonder if this is a common thing here. 

Standing in the rain, with his head hung low
Couldn't get a ticket, it was a sold out show 
Heard the roar of the crowd, he could picture the scene 
Put his ear to the wall, then like a distant scream

He jumps up onto the stand, playing air guitar and I'm taken aback because he isn't alone. People around him are doing the same.

He heard one guitar, just blew him away 
He saw stars in his eyes, and the very next day

I join in, picking up from there and taking the energy from around us, letting images of my own dream fill my mind. I can picture it; walking across the stage, a packed crowd screaming my name and lyrics. 

Bought a beat up six string, in a second store 
Didn't know how to play it, but he knew for sure

I climb up onto the stand opposite Kurt, and I look over to see him smiling at me.

That one guitar, felt good in his hands, it didn't take long to understand

Just one guitar, slung way down low
Was a one way ticket, only one way to go
So he started rockin'
Ain't never gonna stop
Gotta keep on rockin'
Someday gonna make it to the top

And be a juke box hero, got stars in his eyes, he's a juke box hero 
He took one guitar
Juke box hero 
He's got stars in his eyes , stars in his eyes

We finish, jumping down from the stands and the store returns to normal – like nothing ever happened. Was that all in my mind?
But Kurt is breathing heavily next to me, answering my question. 
"Kurt, you're really good!" He laughs, "You just need… courage."
He looks into my eyes, "Maybe you could help me some time. We could get drinks afterwards."
I'm confused. 
"Are you asking me out on a date?" Oops. That was meant to be in my head.
"Maybe," he winks, and leaves the stores, letting me follow with my mouth slightly open, like a dog chasing after its owner.

Chapter Text

My head drops into my hands and I try to ignore the pieces of paper covering the desk in front of me. The red writing is staring at me, warnings I knew were coming but still are a shock – FINAL NOTICE and EVACUATION. I heave a deep sigh and reach for my glass that's been refilled many times this past hour with whiskey. I've emptied a bottle now but I don't feel any sort of buzz. 
A knock on the door comes and I groan quietly – I really don't need company right now. 
"Come in," I only raise my head to see who it is – Jeff – and then put it back into my hands, sighing.
"Nick, you just sighed. Audibly. What's wrong?" 
I can't stop a smile, because even when I feel like shit, i.e. right now, Jeff's presence always makes things seem brighter. But it's Jeff; he's fun, caring, hot. Wait, what? Maybe the whiskey IS having an effect on me.
I sit up, letting my head loll back and gesture to the papers. He moves forward, picks up a handful, skim-reading before tidying the rest up and moving them before coming to sit in front of me on the desk. I swallow thickly, flushing at the feel of heat radiating from Jeff's body, so close to mine. If I moved my leg slightly, it'd brush him. We're staring at each other now, eyes turning a little darker, or it might just be me? I'm not exactly in a clear state. 

I look away quickly, Jeff clearing his throat. The tension is still thick in the air. 
"So, what are we going to do boss?"
Worry is etched into his face and I wish I had a solution; but I don't. I honestly have no idea what to do. 
"If I knew, you'd be the first to know. A few more of these, and we're out. I can't afford the bills, Jeff." I'm staring at the wall, my eyes slipping out of focus when I see the Arsenal poster, and it hits me. 
"Sebastian Smythe."
Jeff stops swinging his legs and turns following my eyes.

"Sebastian Smythe," he repeats. 
I sit up straight, a small flicker of hope in my chest. 
"He owes us – we put him on the map, made him known! If we could get him to play here, the place would fill up and we could raise the money to pay off the bills!"
Before I can say anything else, Jeff throws me the phone. 
"Ring Adam," he says, but I'm already dialling. 

Everything's a nightmare - the fans are causing riots, the band is complaining, as if it's my fault! And what do I do? Take it all like the 'nice guy' I am. I hate my job… that's a lie.
I'd love my job if my client wasn't such a pain in the arse. I walk around a corner, coming up to a door guarded by security, who let me in. Normally, I would knock and wait, but now is not the time. 45 minutes ago, he was meant to be on stage. I step in the room slamming the door behind me, taking in the mess. Empty bottles, cans of god knows what covering every  surface. Random pieces of clothing, the air smells like smoke, liquor and sex, and there, tangled in a pile of bed sheets with two other guys, is Sebastian. I pinch the bridge of my nose, walk over to the bed and start kicking him until he wakes.

"Smythe! Clothes, now! You were supposed to be on stage nearly an hour ago." He groans, blinking in the harsh light.
"Adam, man, calm down. This," he says pointing to the bed "this is my stage."
I roll my eyes, picking up his clothes and throwing them on him. 
"I told you not to drink before a show," I say, giving him another kick.
"I wasn't. I drank, slept with two guys, drank some more then slept, so technically the last thing I did before the show was sleep." 
Man, sometimes I just want to punch that smirking face of his. 
"Sober up and get out there." I'm losing my patience. 
"Fine, fine." He heads to the bathroom.
When did my job become so stressful? 
Before I can ponder this though, my phone vibrates and I check the caller ID. I sigh, but answer. 

"Hey, Nick."
"Adam, great, I need to ask you something," of course he does 
"Sure, what's up?" 
"Sebastian owes us, you owe us, and now I would like to cash in those favours." Is there never a 'thank you' or a 'please' in this line of work?
"What is it?" 
"Sebastian Smythe, to play the Bourbon room next week, for free." 
I only hesitate for a second.
"Fine, sure, whatever. We'll see you – yes, now, Seb – sorry, we'll see you then.“

I hang up the phone, Jeff's looking at me with nervous eyes but when I smile, he does too.
"He said yes," Jeff comments.
I nod and he jumps, fist pumping the air. "I knew you could do it, Nick!"
I almost blush. He walks over to the stereo in the corner of the office.
"I think this calls for some celebratory music
Jeff starts to dance as the music fills the room and I finally start to feel the alcohol running through my veins, and sing along.

I saw him dancin' there by the record machine

I sing, pointing to Jeff dramatically and making my way over. 

I knew he must a been about seventeen 
The beat was goin' strong 
Playin' my favourite song
An' I could tell it wouldn't be long 
Till he was with me, yeah me 

Singin

I love rock n' roll
So put another dime in the jukebox baby 
I love rock n' roll
So come and take your time and dance with me 

Jeff is dancing up against me, I can smell his own drink on his breath. The heat that was there before, is back but this time neither of us want to stop, or seem to care. We immerse ourselves in dancing and singing the lyrics. I look into his green, shining eyes and it makes me want to lose control. 

He smiled so I got up and asked for his name 
That don't matter, he said 
'cause it's all the same 

He turns around, still dancing on me, but now we're face to face. His arms link around my neck, making my breath hitch.

Said can I take you home where we can be alone 
An' next we were movin' on 
He was with me, yeah me 

I love rock n' roll 
So put another dime in the jukebox baby 
I love rock n' roll
So come an' take your time an' dance with me

Our faces are a matter of centimetres away when the song finishes and we pull away, breathing heavily in each other's air. Jeff moves first.
"I should go clean up," and he leaves.
What do I feel for that man?