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slidingmoments2012-01-22 10:00 pm
justbeingaqueen.livejournal.com) wrote in slidingmoments2012-01-22 10:00 pm
"I am in misery, there ain't nobody who can comfort me."
Who: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
justbeingaqueen and rockstarwarbler
What: When fate intervenes...
Where: Downtown Miami
When: Friday evening
Rating: R-ish, swearing
You know those days where it felt like everything went wrong and not even the term 'Bad Day' could really cut it? Kurt was having one of those. No matter what he did to try and get some momentum, he just kept finding himself wondering why the hell he even got out of bed that morning, and why, when he had to be facing an utter shit day, it had to be one of the busiest on his schedule in months. The world wasn't fair, and if he stopped to think that it must be Karma, it would just make him horribly depressed with himself, and he always seemed to have Bad Hair Days on the days he was depressed, like even his hair follicles went out in sympathy.
Not that he wasn't already having a Bad Hair Day. Of course that had to be one of the things on the very long list of what was screwing up for him. The planets had to be out of alignment in his Star Sign or some other bullshit like that. Whatever it was, he just wished it would stop and this day would be over. It all even started to literally go down the toilet in the early ours of the morning. The Chinese takeout they had delivered the night before when neither he nor Quinn or Mercedes wanted to cook after their busy days came back to haunt him. He really, really wasn't a fan of takeout anything on the best of days and thought he was erring on the side of caution with a small chicken and broccoli while the girls chowed down on an array of stodgy dishes to make up for hectic days, but it hit Kurt with a vengeance around three am. He couldn't be sure whether it was food poisoning or the fact these days his stomach didn't do well with heavy food, either way, though, he was up at three with his head in the toilet and then a little later had to aim a whole other part of him in that direction.
It all seemed to pass, though, and he limped back to bed around four like the walking wounded to curl up and get a couple more hours sleep before he had to be up for college. That was when the string of abysmal occurrences seemed to hit with a vengeance. He kicked his toe on the corner of his dresser when his broken sleep meant he was barely awake when his alarm when off and he had to fling himself out of bed to get ready in a rush. At least he didn't have to worry about breakfast. There was no way he was going near food. He swore the whole nutritional pyramid hated him anyway. Discovering the girls had used all the cold water and the last of his shampoo meant he had to cut his shower extremely short. He pulled the shirt out of his wardrobe he had planned to wear the night before and found the dry cleaners had left a huge black smudge near the breast pocket, and it was one of his favourites! All the other shirts he had left hanging in his closet didn't match the pants he had chosen and it through his whole outfit out, which was stressful enough. It threw him right out, and even by the time he put something together that was tolerable, it all still felt out of place.
The wrestle with his hair was next. No matter what way he swept the comb through it, it just had this rogue sticky-up bit on the side of the head that looked something akin to when his nana used to try and spit-gel his hair down when he was a kid after messing it up and telling him he was too small and needed a growth spurt. A bit of product and even more hairspray, and the damn thing just was not going to fucking cooperate. He was already stressed, and this just made it worse. A look at the clock after that battle made him realise that no matter how much he rushed by now, he was going to be late to his first class and he resorted to a hat which really did not match the rest of his outfit. That was never a good thing for Kurt. Unless everything was perfect, he tended to start slipping in his eating habits.
Then he couldn't find his keys, he knocked the vase off the hall table with his shoulder bag and smashed it in his haste, couldn't find his keys and had to take his spares, and found a bird had taken a giant shit on the front window of his red VW Beetle. There was no way he could drive it like that, so he had to hose it off, and once he did, finally getting into his car, the goddamn thing wouldn't start! He sat there for a good ten minutes twisting the key and cursing and swearing with expletives he didn't even realise he knew. Why the hell couldn't his dad be here when he needed him like this? Of course, that kicked into gear a wave of homesickness and the gut-churning he already had coupled with the stress of the bad day had him dropping his head down onto the steering wheel to have a frustrated cry. He rarely let himself resort to that these days and took himself by surprise when he folded. Lack of beauty sleep. That was it right there.
The list just went on and on. A cab that smelled like dirty feet, paper cut in class, some idiot spilling their drink on his latest sketches for an assignment the next week, the professor chewing him out in front of class for not having them ready on time, and some rich bitch from LA insulting his outfit. And that was all before lunchtime when he only had classes in the morning. He managed to get the same reeking cab from campus to work and showed up to the salon to have his boss tell him she hadn't just double booked his first three appointments, but triple booked him because the first two were only trims and their apprentice had called in sick. Which is exactly what Kurt should have done. He was absolutely exhausted before he even clipped his stylist belt on and picked up his scissors.
But of course - of fucking course - the first two clients were miserable and demanding specimens, not to mention one who kept telling him that every time she got her hair cut by 'a gay', she never liked it because they didn't understand women. Kurt had to grip his hand around his curling iron then to talking himself out of belting her with it, but he managed to outwardly keep his cool. The next client, after eavesdropping on the entirety of the conversation with his first, felt the need to reassure him that she 'like gays' and had two lovely ones who lived next door to her, and one was a cop. She said she never saw them kissing though, and then interrogated Kurt in the logistics of two men kissing whilst simultaneously telling her how to do his job and snapping at him every time he didn't listen to her. What the hell in a handbag had he done to deserve all this?!
When they ran out of milk for client coffee and tea, Kurt was the first to emphatically put his hand up to volunteer to make a run to the store. He needed to just get out of that damn place before he literally caused grievous bodily harm to one of the customers. Why the hell were all the assholes out today? He was on edge and even nearly yelled at his boss when she handed him a shopping list that didn't just contain milk, but a good sixteen other things to stock up on 'just in case'. Whenever anyone else offered to run to the store, they never got the freaking Gettysburg Address of lists! It was just his luck, and why wouldn't this day just end? But it got him out in the fresh air, even it iwas freezing and overcast now. In fact, it looked like it was going to rain. Of course it was going to freaking rain. It hadn't rained in weeks, but yep, it had to choose today of all days to break the dry spell.
Kurt was miserable. His mojo was off. He shouldn't have stepped out of the salon and right into the Krispy Kreme across the street. But he did, and gorged himself with six whole double-glazed donuts in one go, followed by a chocolate shake with cream on top. Talk about regret. The shopping list was unceremoniously shoved into the pocket of his jacket so he could crouch over the toilet in the public bathroom and shoved his fingers down his throat to get rid of it all. Bad Days weren't a good thing for Kurt. This was always the result. Holly would be disappointed, he had been doing so well.
But he pulled himself together, splashed his face with water and rinsing his mouth out with an ever-present travel-sized bottle of mouthwash from his bag. He stayed in the bathroom for a few minutes, watching himself in the mirror with his hands braced on the edges of the sink to wait out the recession of the flush of exertion of his cheeks and throat which had been known to give him away over the years once those closest to him were away of what he was doing. He was pale, and he had bags under his eyes that Louis Vuitton would be proud of. Maybe it was time to book another appointment with his shrink. Holly had been passively-aggressively suggesting to him for a few days now that it might be a good idea when he seemed distracted. They had been trying to catch him before he got to this point, but it didn't always work. He wiped his nose again on the tissue he had clutched in his hand and then threw it in the trash to fish the shopping list from his pocket again.
The shopping trip was over quickly, but fuck the paper bags full of items were heavy by the time he was done. He wanted to stop and have another good cry, and two times in one day probably did mean an appointment with his therapist was in order. But really, it was just an atrocious day and he wanted it over. He still had a good five hours left at work, though, so he just had to push through. He was dragging his feet tiredly up the sidewalk back to the salon, arms laden with bags that felt heavier than he weighed when the rotten day just peaked in a succession of things that happened so quickly, he had no time to stop and realise what was going on.
First, he got shoved by a jerk rushing past him with a mumble of 'Fag' under his breath and Kurt fumbled, almost dropping his shopping. He should be used to that by now, but it hurt and came like a bit of a kick in the guts when he was already feeling so down. A flashback to the McKinley halls and Karofsky shoving him roughly and painfully into a locker made itself known in his brain, and the next thing he knew he was being hit by a way of dizziness that caused him to stumble and catch the heel of his boot on one of the decorative cement planters lining the sidewalk. His ankle twisted and he went down hard onto his hands and knees, the shopping bags splitting open as he dropped them. One of the bottles of milk burst and the tins of creamer rolled over the path and into the gutter.
And then, with a roll of thunder in the distance, it started to piss down rain.
Blaine was in a cab on his way home from college, aimless watching the Miami buildings crawl by the window. He was tired from not sleeping so well the night before and with his head propped up on his hand and elbow resting on the edge of the window, his eyes kept wanting to slip closed but he caught himself nodding when his head dropped off his hand a couple of times. He sat up straight in the seat and gave himself a shake to wake up. He would be fine after a shower and dinner, maybe a bit of TV and then an early bed. He didn't have any classes tomorrow so he fully planned on making the most of that, maybe catching up with Rachel for coffee or dropping in to see Nick. It had been awhile since they caught up, with Nick having been in Ireland with family for the holidays. Lucky bastard.
The were pulled up at some lights, Blaine randomly people watching out the window while they waited for the green when he saw it. The poor guy carrying those heavy-looking shopping bags just got shoved by some wanker! It caused Blaine to audibly gasp with a mumur of, "That bastard!" The cab driver had his attention caught, looking at Blaine via the rearview mirror probably thinking Blaine was cussing him out. Blaine was distracted though. He watched to make sure the guy wasn't going to fall over when he saw in horror as it all played out. It was just too quick to do anything about, even if Blaine was making a panicked grab for the door handle just as he saw the guy trip on the planter edge and fall heavily onto the concrete.
"Hey, kid, where do you think you're going?! You gotta fare to pay, and it ain't small change either!" the cabbie protested, turning in his seat as Blaine tried to escape the cab. "I'll call the cops, y'know! We get screwed in the ass too damn much by punks like you!"
Shit, the fare! Blaine yanked his wallet out of his pocket and without thinking, too a hundred dollar bill from the folds and threw it through the perspex window at the jerk. He didn't evn say anything to him then, just shoved his wallet back into his pocket and abandoned the cab in the middle of the street. It was really starting to come down, but Blaine didn't even think twice, he bolted over the street when there was a gap in traffic coming the other way and was crouching down next to the poor guy quickly. "Hey, hey... are you okay, buddy?" he asked breathlessly in concern, it not lost on him at all that no one else had even thought to stop and help the guy. God, sometimes humans were fucking assholes. His hand dropped onto the guy's back at first, not sure whether he should try to help him up yet in case he had broken anything. After a quick thought, Blaine found his travel umbrella from his leather bag and open it up to hold over them both. At least it was better then nothing. "Here, let let help you. Are you hurt? Is anything painful?"
Still thrumming with shock, it took a few moments for Kurt to realise what was happening. He was damp from the rain hat had fallen on him before the umbrella came, and he blinked a couple of times, the raindrops getting in his eyes and sticking his lashes together. Or maybe it was tears? He didn't know by this point. This guy had really stopped to help him? He looked, finding big hazel eyes filled with concern staring back at him that were attached to... a really gorgeous face and topped with a head of thick dark curls. Was this the real life? Or was it just fantasy? "I..." Kurt began tearfully and shakily. He blinked again a few times, analysing how he was. "I'm okay." No, he wasn't. He was far from okay, and there was a bolt of pain through his ankle coupled with stinging at his knees and hands. He managed to push back and looked down at his palms that were scraped and bleeding. Oh god, he was going to hurt in the morning.
"No, you're not," Blaine could see as he gazed down at the guy's scraped up hands. Ouch, they looked really sore. Across the sidewalk in front of them, the rain was washing the splattered milk away, but most of the groceries were a lost cause. A couple of bottles of milk and some packeted things were rescuable, but the rest was ruined. He turned his gaze from the bleeding hands up to the guys face and their eyes met again. Shit, he was beautiful. Pale and clearly in shock, wet with his hair plastered to his forehead and he looked tired, but he... beautiful. Blaine's mouth fell open just a little before he snapped his composure again, blinking to break the gaze. "It's really coming down and you're getting soaked. Here, let me help you up? Do you think you can stand? You really went down hard. Don't worry about the groceries yet, just let me help you up? Do you need to go far?"
Kurt swallowed, feeling faintly sick again now the mortification and pure utter embarrassment at going ass-over-tit in public was setting in. At least he hadn't smashed his face. Maybe he smashed everything else, but his face he couldn't have handled. It was true, though. The rain was getting heavier and heavier, and the umbrella was tiny. They were both still getting wet, and his shopping was ruined. The urge to cry was back, but he didn't want to bawl and snot in front of this guy. It had to be some cardinal sin to sob in front of someone this hot, and Kurt had already made a big enough fool out of himself. His ankle was killing him, though, and he didn't know if he could get up on his own. Oh god, the indiscretion of being a fucking damsel in distress was rubbing him up the wrong way. He needed to save face somehow. "N-No," he mumbled, shaking his head. "Just a few doors down. The salon with the aqua flags out front."
Blaine looked up the street, seeing the place in question. It wasn't far at all, but it could seem like a ten mile hike if the poor thing was injured. "You're a hairdresser?" he found himself asking in surprise, no idea why that, of all freaking things, had to be what came out of his mouth right then. At least he wasn't talking in tongues, but bloody hell, what a way to make a dick of himself trying to do a good deed!
"Stylist. Are you judging me?" Kurt asked snappily, shooting the guy a faint glare. Typical, he got a judgemental jerk trying to help him. Why couldn't it be Henry Cavill or Taylor Lautner? Not that this guy wasn't up there in the looks department. Actually, he probably trumped both of them, but he could at least be polite about it. "I... I'm fine. Thank you for stopping and helping me, but I've got it. I'm fine." If he said it over and over enough, he could maybe start believing it.
"No, no, no. I'm sorry! I didn't mean that to come out sounding like it did at all. I'm not judging at all. I'm just... you look..." '...too good to be a hairdresser, uh stylist' his brain finished for him. Which was actually really judgmental, Blaine realised, feeling even more of a dick. "I'm not judging. Please, let me help you up. It's raining, you'll catch your death and you need to get those cuts cleaned up. It's okay if you're not fine, you know. You took a hell of a spill there. I... I saw you get shoved," he admitted, even if meant the guy would know Blaine was watching him. For some reason, he needed him to know he wasn't a judgemental douchebag.
Kurt eyed the guy for a couple of passing moments before he remembered he was on his knees on a sidewalk, bleeding, in the pouring rain. Now was no time to analytically bitchpls someone trying to help him out. Another beat passed and he plucked up the courage to carefully put his hand around the guy's fingers so he could get a hand up. "No, I'm sorry. I've just had a really bad day. This about tops it all. I'm grateful for the help, please don't think I'm not. There's not enough people like you left in the world," he sighed and then did a tiny double-take, gaze locking back on the guys face. Fuck, his eyes were stunning. He was stunning, like a Disney prince or something, and Kurt was a drowned rat with pending snot and scraped knees. Brilliant. "You saw? It's nothing. Jerks. They're everywhere... n-not you, though. I didn't mean you."
Blaine gave him a small smile. "I know, it's okay. You've had a bad day, you're probably embarrassed, it's okay. I understand. As someone who has a track record of embarrassing himself, I know how it feels." Stop there, Blaine. Stop there. Don't share any of said tales, the guy didn't want or need to know how much more of an idiot you were. Then that hand over around his and despite the fact he was offering help, it took Blaine by surprise. He had been expecting to be pushed away. He tucked the handle of the umbrella under his arm to free both hands and then carefully, slowy, helped the guy up. But it was evident he had hurt himself. There was a pained gasp and he nearly folded to his knees, but Blaine caught him, dropping the umbrella so he could hold him against him. "It's okay...it's okay, I've got you. It's your ankle, yeah? Can you put weight on it at all?" They were getting soaked, but it didn't matter. He would figure this out somehow.
"I think I just twisted it," Kurt said with another small gasp. Shit, it really hurt, but he had already trouble this guy far too much. The groceries could piss the fuck off for all he cared. He was in a lot of pain and his care factor had slipped down into the gutter with the spilt milk. If the clients wanted milk in their coffee, they could go to the fucking store themselves. All Kurt needed to do was not cry in front of Prince Eric. Whatever it took, he could not cry or let on he was in the mess he was... ie, injured with a wet ass and so close to tears, he had no idea how he was managing to talk. He wanted Holly, or Quinn, or Mercedes... he wanted his daddy, damnit. Fucking rain. It made everyone miserable. He just needed to throw his ego under the bus for one more tiny little favour. Managing to get a little weight onto his ankle to stand with the crutch being the guy's arms around him, he met his gaze again. Those damn eyes. Kurt, stop having impure thoughts when you wouldn't know what a real impure thought was to save yourself, he scolded himself internally. "Do you think you might be able to help me to salon? I swear, after that, you can have your evening back and nver have to see my pathetic face again."
'But what if I want to?' was on the tip of Blaine's tongue and nearly fell from him lips, but he stopped it. What the hell was his mind doing? Was he seriously contemplating hitting on this poor guy? Shit, he needed to take Puck's advice and stop watching so many romantic comedies. This wasn't When Harry Met Fucking Sally, and this guy was way, way hotter than Meg Ryan anyway. "Of course I can. Just hold on tight, okay. Lean on me if you need to." With a nudge of his elbow, he hitched his bag further over to his back and grabbed up the umbrella to hold it over them with his armpit again the best he could. It was slow, and the guy was clearly in pain and hardly able to put much weight on that ankle. He needed to get it up and have ice on it ASAP, and Blaine found himself wanting to offer his services, but that was just inappropriate.
It really was a slow process to get Kurt back to the salon, and yes, Kurt had to both hold on tight and lean on him. Shit, even in the rain, he smelt amazing. What was that cologne? Kurt knew it, he just couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was. He just had to stop himself burying his face into the guy's neck and licking his throat. Where the hell were these thoughts coming from when he felt so crappy? He needed to stop watching so many romantic comedies, seriously. Next time they had a night on the sofa chilling, he was going to pick X-Men or something. They soon made it and Kurt was helped stiffly into the salon, drenched from head-to-toe and his boss, Carla, came rushing over to him in a panic when she saw him with a horrified squeak of, "I was just about to call the police! Why weren't you answering your phone?!"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry... some jerk shoved me and I twisting my ankle on one of those damn planters," Kurt mumbled as the guy helped him to sit down on one of the salon chairs. That was when Kurt patted at his pocket, looking for his phone because he hadn't heard it ringing at all. "Oh no, oh fuck! I must have dropped it when I fell!" he cried with a moan. This day seriously could not get any worse and that tickle was in the back of his throat. He really was about to cry.
Blaine watched him in sympathetic concern and patted his shoulder reassuringly. "I'll go get it. Don't sweat. I'm sure it's okay," he insisted and then was turning and bounding out of the salon and up the street again. There it was, lying in the gutter in a puddle of water and looking scraped up. It was a white iPhone, and Blaine carefully picked it up. He hated himself when a thought to turn it on and try to see who this guy was entered his mind, but when he pressed the button, it didn't want to turn on. "Aw, no," he murmured with a sad frown. This wasn't fair. He sighed, and then without thinking, picked up some of the groceries items he could manage and were rescuable to carry them back to the salon.
Kurt was just stunned. This guy had to be some sort of guardian angel or something, and he was wiping at his eyes with some Kleenex Carla supplied him with when the tears began to drip down his cheeks as soon as the guy exited the salon. But he wiped them away and hid the wad of tissues in his palm when he came bag, arms full of various grocery items, including a large bottle of milk that hadn't smashed and Kurt just watched in awe as he crossed the salon, shoes squeaking wetly on the marble floor. His curls were all wet now and tossled over his head, falling in little ringlets across his forehead. "Th-thank you," he stammered just as Carla came back with some ice wrapped in a tea towel and started to unlace Kurt's boot.
Blaine held out the iPhone reluctantly. "I think it's bitten the dust, I'm sorry. It was in a puddle," he had to confess and put the other items on the counter of the salon bay. He hovered for a moment, wanting to offer more help just to spend even a hint more time in this guy's presence and just wet his lips, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I guess I should go now, then. If you're okay and all...? I hope you feel better, and I'm sorry your day was so bad. If it's any consolation, it's supposed to be sunny tomorrow."
Kurt nodded, a small indication that he was okay. He still couldn't quite believe the help he had just received. "Wait," he said before the guy turned to leave. He gazed up at him for a moment and then cleared his throat. "What's your name?"
"I'm Blaine," Blaine responded quickly, feeling suddenly self-conscious under the blue-eyed gaze.
"Thank you, Blaine. For everything," Kurt finally murmured softly and offered a small, grateful smile up at him.
Blaine wet his lips and nodded, a smile flashed in return. "Any time," he replied and then with a little wave, turned to hurry out of the salon before he went and said something stupid or started talking bashfully in tongues when he couldn't find the right words. He was flattered at the gratitude, because he didn't think it was anything. It was only when he got a few paced away from the salon to the curb to hail another cab that he realised he never asked the guy's name in return. He smacked himself in the head at the fail and nearly spun around to run back and get it, but that would just look douchy. He looked forlornly at the facade of the salon for a few more lingering moments while the rain beat down on him and tickled his eyelashes. Something just happened, he could feel it in his gut, but rather than following his instinct, he just sighed, hailed a cab and climbed inside to head for home without looking back.
RP LOG, SCENE COMPLETE
justbeingaqueen and rockstarwarblerWhat: When fate intervenes...
Where: Downtown Miami
When: Friday evening
Rating: R-ish, swearing
You know those days where it felt like everything went wrong and not even the term 'Bad Day' could really cut it? Kurt was having one of those. No matter what he did to try and get some momentum, he just kept finding himself wondering why the hell he even got out of bed that morning, and why, when he had to be facing an utter shit day, it had to be one of the busiest on his schedule in months. The world wasn't fair, and if he stopped to think that it must be Karma, it would just make him horribly depressed with himself, and he always seemed to have Bad Hair Days on the days he was depressed, like even his hair follicles went out in sympathy.
Not that he wasn't already having a Bad Hair Day. Of course that had to be one of the things on the very long list of what was screwing up for him. The planets had to be out of alignment in his Star Sign or some other bullshit like that. Whatever it was, he just wished it would stop and this day would be over. It all even started to literally go down the toilet in the early ours of the morning. The Chinese takeout they had delivered the night before when neither he nor Quinn or Mercedes wanted to cook after their busy days came back to haunt him. He really, really wasn't a fan of takeout anything on the best of days and thought he was erring on the side of caution with a small chicken and broccoli while the girls chowed down on an array of stodgy dishes to make up for hectic days, but it hit Kurt with a vengeance around three am. He couldn't be sure whether it was food poisoning or the fact these days his stomach didn't do well with heavy food, either way, though, he was up at three with his head in the toilet and then a little later had to aim a whole other part of him in that direction.
It all seemed to pass, though, and he limped back to bed around four like the walking wounded to curl up and get a couple more hours sleep before he had to be up for college. That was when the string of abysmal occurrences seemed to hit with a vengeance. He kicked his toe on the corner of his dresser when his broken sleep meant he was barely awake when his alarm when off and he had to fling himself out of bed to get ready in a rush. At least he didn't have to worry about breakfast. There was no way he was going near food. He swore the whole nutritional pyramid hated him anyway. Discovering the girls had used all the cold water and the last of his shampoo meant he had to cut his shower extremely short. He pulled the shirt out of his wardrobe he had planned to wear the night before and found the dry cleaners had left a huge black smudge near the breast pocket, and it was one of his favourites! All the other shirts he had left hanging in his closet didn't match the pants he had chosen and it through his whole outfit out, which was stressful enough. It threw him right out, and even by the time he put something together that was tolerable, it all still felt out of place.
The wrestle with his hair was next. No matter what way he swept the comb through it, it just had this rogue sticky-up bit on the side of the head that looked something akin to when his nana used to try and spit-gel his hair down when he was a kid after messing it up and telling him he was too small and needed a growth spurt. A bit of product and even more hairspray, and the damn thing just was not going to fucking cooperate. He was already stressed, and this just made it worse. A look at the clock after that battle made him realise that no matter how much he rushed by now, he was going to be late to his first class and he resorted to a hat which really did not match the rest of his outfit. That was never a good thing for Kurt. Unless everything was perfect, he tended to start slipping in his eating habits.
Then he couldn't find his keys, he knocked the vase off the hall table with his shoulder bag and smashed it in his haste, couldn't find his keys and had to take his spares, and found a bird had taken a giant shit on the front window of his red VW Beetle. There was no way he could drive it like that, so he had to hose it off, and once he did, finally getting into his car, the goddamn thing wouldn't start! He sat there for a good ten minutes twisting the key and cursing and swearing with expletives he didn't even realise he knew. Why the hell couldn't his dad be here when he needed him like this? Of course, that kicked into gear a wave of homesickness and the gut-churning he already had coupled with the stress of the bad day had him dropping his head down onto the steering wheel to have a frustrated cry. He rarely let himself resort to that these days and took himself by surprise when he folded. Lack of beauty sleep. That was it right there.
The list just went on and on. A cab that smelled like dirty feet, paper cut in class, some idiot spilling their drink on his latest sketches for an assignment the next week, the professor chewing him out in front of class for not having them ready on time, and some rich bitch from LA insulting his outfit. And that was all before lunchtime when he only had classes in the morning. He managed to get the same reeking cab from campus to work and showed up to the salon to have his boss tell him she hadn't just double booked his first three appointments, but triple booked him because the first two were only trims and their apprentice had called in sick. Which is exactly what Kurt should have done. He was absolutely exhausted before he even clipped his stylist belt on and picked up his scissors.
But of course - of fucking course - the first two clients were miserable and demanding specimens, not to mention one who kept telling him that every time she got her hair cut by 'a gay', she never liked it because they didn't understand women. Kurt had to grip his hand around his curling iron then to talking himself out of belting her with it, but he managed to outwardly keep his cool. The next client, after eavesdropping on the entirety of the conversation with his first, felt the need to reassure him that she 'like gays' and had two lovely ones who lived next door to her, and one was a cop. She said she never saw them kissing though, and then interrogated Kurt in the logistics of two men kissing whilst simultaneously telling her how to do his job and snapping at him every time he didn't listen to her. What the hell in a handbag had he done to deserve all this?!
When they ran out of milk for client coffee and tea, Kurt was the first to emphatically put his hand up to volunteer to make a run to the store. He needed to just get out of that damn place before he literally caused grievous bodily harm to one of the customers. Why the hell were all the assholes out today? He was on edge and even nearly yelled at his boss when she handed him a shopping list that didn't just contain milk, but a good sixteen other things to stock up on 'just in case'. Whenever anyone else offered to run to the store, they never got the freaking Gettysburg Address of lists! It was just his luck, and why wouldn't this day just end? But it got him out in the fresh air, even it iwas freezing and overcast now. In fact, it looked like it was going to rain. Of course it was going to freaking rain. It hadn't rained in weeks, but yep, it had to choose today of all days to break the dry spell.
Kurt was miserable. His mojo was off. He shouldn't have stepped out of the salon and right into the Krispy Kreme across the street. But he did, and gorged himself with six whole double-glazed donuts in one go, followed by a chocolate shake with cream on top. Talk about regret. The shopping list was unceremoniously shoved into the pocket of his jacket so he could crouch over the toilet in the public bathroom and shoved his fingers down his throat to get rid of it all. Bad Days weren't a good thing for Kurt. This was always the result. Holly would be disappointed, he had been doing so well.
But he pulled himself together, splashed his face with water and rinsing his mouth out with an ever-present travel-sized bottle of mouthwash from his bag. He stayed in the bathroom for a few minutes, watching himself in the mirror with his hands braced on the edges of the sink to wait out the recession of the flush of exertion of his cheeks and throat which had been known to give him away over the years once those closest to him were away of what he was doing. He was pale, and he had bags under his eyes that Louis Vuitton would be proud of. Maybe it was time to book another appointment with his shrink. Holly had been passively-aggressively suggesting to him for a few days now that it might be a good idea when he seemed distracted. They had been trying to catch him before he got to this point, but it didn't always work. He wiped his nose again on the tissue he had clutched in his hand and then threw it in the trash to fish the shopping list from his pocket again.
The shopping trip was over quickly, but fuck the paper bags full of items were heavy by the time he was done. He wanted to stop and have another good cry, and two times in one day probably did mean an appointment with his therapist was in order. But really, it was just an atrocious day and he wanted it over. He still had a good five hours left at work, though, so he just had to push through. He was dragging his feet tiredly up the sidewalk back to the salon, arms laden with bags that felt heavier than he weighed when the rotten day just peaked in a succession of things that happened so quickly, he had no time to stop and realise what was going on.
First, he got shoved by a jerk rushing past him with a mumble of 'Fag' under his breath and Kurt fumbled, almost dropping his shopping. He should be used to that by now, but it hurt and came like a bit of a kick in the guts when he was already feeling so down. A flashback to the McKinley halls and Karofsky shoving him roughly and painfully into a locker made itself known in his brain, and the next thing he knew he was being hit by a way of dizziness that caused him to stumble and catch the heel of his boot on one of the decorative cement planters lining the sidewalk. His ankle twisted and he went down hard onto his hands and knees, the shopping bags splitting open as he dropped them. One of the bottles of milk burst and the tins of creamer rolled over the path and into the gutter.
And then, with a roll of thunder in the distance, it started to piss down rain.
Blaine was in a cab on his way home from college, aimless watching the Miami buildings crawl by the window. He was tired from not sleeping so well the night before and with his head propped up on his hand and elbow resting on the edge of the window, his eyes kept wanting to slip closed but he caught himself nodding when his head dropped off his hand a couple of times. He sat up straight in the seat and gave himself a shake to wake up. He would be fine after a shower and dinner, maybe a bit of TV and then an early bed. He didn't have any classes tomorrow so he fully planned on making the most of that, maybe catching up with Rachel for coffee or dropping in to see Nick. It had been awhile since they caught up, with Nick having been in Ireland with family for the holidays. Lucky bastard.
The were pulled up at some lights, Blaine randomly people watching out the window while they waited for the green when he saw it. The poor guy carrying those heavy-looking shopping bags just got shoved by some wanker! It caused Blaine to audibly gasp with a mumur of, "That bastard!" The cab driver had his attention caught, looking at Blaine via the rearview mirror probably thinking Blaine was cussing him out. Blaine was distracted though. He watched to make sure the guy wasn't going to fall over when he saw in horror as it all played out. It was just too quick to do anything about, even if Blaine was making a panicked grab for the door handle just as he saw the guy trip on the planter edge and fall heavily onto the concrete.
"Hey, kid, where do you think you're going?! You gotta fare to pay, and it ain't small change either!" the cabbie protested, turning in his seat as Blaine tried to escape the cab. "I'll call the cops, y'know! We get screwed in the ass too damn much by punks like you!"
Shit, the fare! Blaine yanked his wallet out of his pocket and without thinking, too a hundred dollar bill from the folds and threw it through the perspex window at the jerk. He didn't evn say anything to him then, just shoved his wallet back into his pocket and abandoned the cab in the middle of the street. It was really starting to come down, but Blaine didn't even think twice, he bolted over the street when there was a gap in traffic coming the other way and was crouching down next to the poor guy quickly. "Hey, hey... are you okay, buddy?" he asked breathlessly in concern, it not lost on him at all that no one else had even thought to stop and help the guy. God, sometimes humans were fucking assholes. His hand dropped onto the guy's back at first, not sure whether he should try to help him up yet in case he had broken anything. After a quick thought, Blaine found his travel umbrella from his leather bag and open it up to hold over them both. At least it was better then nothing. "Here, let let help you. Are you hurt? Is anything painful?"
Still thrumming with shock, it took a few moments for Kurt to realise what was happening. He was damp from the rain hat had fallen on him before the umbrella came, and he blinked a couple of times, the raindrops getting in his eyes and sticking his lashes together. Or maybe it was tears? He didn't know by this point. This guy had really stopped to help him? He looked, finding big hazel eyes filled with concern staring back at him that were attached to... a really gorgeous face and topped with a head of thick dark curls. Was this the real life? Or was it just fantasy? "I..." Kurt began tearfully and shakily. He blinked again a few times, analysing how he was. "I'm okay." No, he wasn't. He was far from okay, and there was a bolt of pain through his ankle coupled with stinging at his knees and hands. He managed to push back and looked down at his palms that were scraped and bleeding. Oh god, he was going to hurt in the morning.
"No, you're not," Blaine could see as he gazed down at the guy's scraped up hands. Ouch, they looked really sore. Across the sidewalk in front of them, the rain was washing the splattered milk away, but most of the groceries were a lost cause. A couple of bottles of milk and some packeted things were rescuable, but the rest was ruined. He turned his gaze from the bleeding hands up to the guys face and their eyes met again. Shit, he was beautiful. Pale and clearly in shock, wet with his hair plastered to his forehead and he looked tired, but he... beautiful. Blaine's mouth fell open just a little before he snapped his composure again, blinking to break the gaze. "It's really coming down and you're getting soaked. Here, let me help you up? Do you think you can stand? You really went down hard. Don't worry about the groceries yet, just let me help you up? Do you need to go far?"
Kurt swallowed, feeling faintly sick again now the mortification and pure utter embarrassment at going ass-over-tit in public was setting in. At least he hadn't smashed his face. Maybe he smashed everything else, but his face he couldn't have handled. It was true, though. The rain was getting heavier and heavier, and the umbrella was tiny. They were both still getting wet, and his shopping was ruined. The urge to cry was back, but he didn't want to bawl and snot in front of this guy. It had to be some cardinal sin to sob in front of someone this hot, and Kurt had already made a big enough fool out of himself. His ankle was killing him, though, and he didn't know if he could get up on his own. Oh god, the indiscretion of being a fucking damsel in distress was rubbing him up the wrong way. He needed to save face somehow. "N-No," he mumbled, shaking his head. "Just a few doors down. The salon with the aqua flags out front."
Blaine looked up the street, seeing the place in question. It wasn't far at all, but it could seem like a ten mile hike if the poor thing was injured. "You're a hairdresser?" he found himself asking in surprise, no idea why that, of all freaking things, had to be what came out of his mouth right then. At least he wasn't talking in tongues, but bloody hell, what a way to make a dick of himself trying to do a good deed!
"Stylist. Are you judging me?" Kurt asked snappily, shooting the guy a faint glare. Typical, he got a judgemental jerk trying to help him. Why couldn't it be Henry Cavill or Taylor Lautner? Not that this guy wasn't up there in the looks department. Actually, he probably trumped both of them, but he could at least be polite about it. "I... I'm fine. Thank you for stopping and helping me, but I've got it. I'm fine." If he said it over and over enough, he could maybe start believing it.
"No, no, no. I'm sorry! I didn't mean that to come out sounding like it did at all. I'm not judging at all. I'm just... you look..." '...too good to be a hairdresser, uh stylist' his brain finished for him. Which was actually really judgmental, Blaine realised, feeling even more of a dick. "I'm not judging. Please, let me help you up. It's raining, you'll catch your death and you need to get those cuts cleaned up. It's okay if you're not fine, you know. You took a hell of a spill there. I... I saw you get shoved," he admitted, even if meant the guy would know Blaine was watching him. For some reason, he needed him to know he wasn't a judgemental douchebag.
Kurt eyed the guy for a couple of passing moments before he remembered he was on his knees on a sidewalk, bleeding, in the pouring rain. Now was no time to analytically bitchpls someone trying to help him out. Another beat passed and he plucked up the courage to carefully put his hand around the guy's fingers so he could get a hand up. "No, I'm sorry. I've just had a really bad day. This about tops it all. I'm grateful for the help, please don't think I'm not. There's not enough people like you left in the world," he sighed and then did a tiny double-take, gaze locking back on the guys face. Fuck, his eyes were stunning. He was stunning, like a Disney prince or something, and Kurt was a drowned rat with pending snot and scraped knees. Brilliant. "You saw? It's nothing. Jerks. They're everywhere... n-not you, though. I didn't mean you."
Blaine gave him a small smile. "I know, it's okay. You've had a bad day, you're probably embarrassed, it's okay. I understand. As someone who has a track record of embarrassing himself, I know how it feels." Stop there, Blaine. Stop there. Don't share any of said tales, the guy didn't want or need to know how much more of an idiot you were. Then that hand over around his and despite the fact he was offering help, it took Blaine by surprise. He had been expecting to be pushed away. He tucked the handle of the umbrella under his arm to free both hands and then carefully, slowy, helped the guy up. But it was evident he had hurt himself. There was a pained gasp and he nearly folded to his knees, but Blaine caught him, dropping the umbrella so he could hold him against him. "It's okay...it's okay, I've got you. It's your ankle, yeah? Can you put weight on it at all?" They were getting soaked, but it didn't matter. He would figure this out somehow.
"I think I just twisted it," Kurt said with another small gasp. Shit, it really hurt, but he had already trouble this guy far too much. The groceries could piss the fuck off for all he cared. He was in a lot of pain and his care factor had slipped down into the gutter with the spilt milk. If the clients wanted milk in their coffee, they could go to the fucking store themselves. All Kurt needed to do was not cry in front of Prince Eric. Whatever it took, he could not cry or let on he was in the mess he was... ie, injured with a wet ass and so close to tears, he had no idea how he was managing to talk. He wanted Holly, or Quinn, or Mercedes... he wanted his daddy, damnit. Fucking rain. It made everyone miserable. He just needed to throw his ego under the bus for one more tiny little favour. Managing to get a little weight onto his ankle to stand with the crutch being the guy's arms around him, he met his gaze again. Those damn eyes. Kurt, stop having impure thoughts when you wouldn't know what a real impure thought was to save yourself, he scolded himself internally. "Do you think you might be able to help me to salon? I swear, after that, you can have your evening back and nver have to see my pathetic face again."
'But what if I want to?' was on the tip of Blaine's tongue and nearly fell from him lips, but he stopped it. What the hell was his mind doing? Was he seriously contemplating hitting on this poor guy? Shit, he needed to take Puck's advice and stop watching so many romantic comedies. This wasn't When Harry Met Fucking Sally, and this guy was way, way hotter than Meg Ryan anyway. "Of course I can. Just hold on tight, okay. Lean on me if you need to." With a nudge of his elbow, he hitched his bag further over to his back and grabbed up the umbrella to hold it over them with his armpit again the best he could. It was slow, and the guy was clearly in pain and hardly able to put much weight on that ankle. He needed to get it up and have ice on it ASAP, and Blaine found himself wanting to offer his services, but that was just inappropriate.
It really was a slow process to get Kurt back to the salon, and yes, Kurt had to both hold on tight and lean on him. Shit, even in the rain, he smelt amazing. What was that cologne? Kurt knew it, he just couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was. He just had to stop himself burying his face into the guy's neck and licking his throat. Where the hell were these thoughts coming from when he felt so crappy? He needed to stop watching so many romantic comedies, seriously. Next time they had a night on the sofa chilling, he was going to pick X-Men or something. They soon made it and Kurt was helped stiffly into the salon, drenched from head-to-toe and his boss, Carla, came rushing over to him in a panic when she saw him with a horrified squeak of, "I was just about to call the police! Why weren't you answering your phone?!"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry... some jerk shoved me and I twisting my ankle on one of those damn planters," Kurt mumbled as the guy helped him to sit down on one of the salon chairs. That was when Kurt patted at his pocket, looking for his phone because he hadn't heard it ringing at all. "Oh no, oh fuck! I must have dropped it when I fell!" he cried with a moan. This day seriously could not get any worse and that tickle was in the back of his throat. He really was about to cry.
Blaine watched him in sympathetic concern and patted his shoulder reassuringly. "I'll go get it. Don't sweat. I'm sure it's okay," he insisted and then was turning and bounding out of the salon and up the street again. There it was, lying in the gutter in a puddle of water and looking scraped up. It was a white iPhone, and Blaine carefully picked it up. He hated himself when a thought to turn it on and try to see who this guy was entered his mind, but when he pressed the button, it didn't want to turn on. "Aw, no," he murmured with a sad frown. This wasn't fair. He sighed, and then without thinking, picked up some of the groceries items he could manage and were rescuable to carry them back to the salon.
Kurt was just stunned. This guy had to be some sort of guardian angel or something, and he was wiping at his eyes with some Kleenex Carla supplied him with when the tears began to drip down his cheeks as soon as the guy exited the salon. But he wiped them away and hid the wad of tissues in his palm when he came bag, arms full of various grocery items, including a large bottle of milk that hadn't smashed and Kurt just watched in awe as he crossed the salon, shoes squeaking wetly on the marble floor. His curls were all wet now and tossled over his head, falling in little ringlets across his forehead. "Th-thank you," he stammered just as Carla came back with some ice wrapped in a tea towel and started to unlace Kurt's boot.
Blaine held out the iPhone reluctantly. "I think it's bitten the dust, I'm sorry. It was in a puddle," he had to confess and put the other items on the counter of the salon bay. He hovered for a moment, wanting to offer more help just to spend even a hint more time in this guy's presence and just wet his lips, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I guess I should go now, then. If you're okay and all...? I hope you feel better, and I'm sorry your day was so bad. If it's any consolation, it's supposed to be sunny tomorrow."
Kurt nodded, a small indication that he was okay. He still couldn't quite believe the help he had just received. "Wait," he said before the guy turned to leave. He gazed up at him for a moment and then cleared his throat. "What's your name?"
"I'm Blaine," Blaine responded quickly, feeling suddenly self-conscious under the blue-eyed gaze.
"Thank you, Blaine. For everything," Kurt finally murmured softly and offered a small, grateful smile up at him.
Blaine wet his lips and nodded, a smile flashed in return. "Any time," he replied and then with a little wave, turned to hurry out of the salon before he went and said something stupid or started talking bashfully in tongues when he couldn't find the right words. He was flattered at the gratitude, because he didn't think it was anything. It was only when he got a few paced away from the salon to the curb to hail another cab that he realised he never asked the guy's name in return. He smacked himself in the head at the fail and nearly spun around to run back and get it, but that would just look douchy. He looked forlornly at the facade of the salon for a few more lingering moments while the rain beat down on him and tickled his eyelashes. Something just happened, he could feel it in his gut, but rather than following his instinct, he just sighed, hailed a cab and climbed inside to head for home without looking back.
RP LOG, SCENE COMPLETE