Archive of Our Own

But there’s something about this boy, the way his dark curls tangle in the wind, the way he always sings with a smile, the tiny engraving of a bird on his guitar. Despite his ratty jacket and the holes in his shoes. Kurt watches him sometimes, from the warmth of the coffee shop, can just make out the sound of his music through the bustle of people.

“He’s cute,” Rachel says one day, when she catches Kurt gazing. Kurt blinks, glares back at her.

“What?”

She tilts her head towards the window.

“The boy. He’s cute.”

Kurt’s eyes flicker back outside, sees the boy nod graciously at a couple who drop a dollar in his case.

“He’s homeless.”

Rachel shrugs.

“So? He’s good.”

Kurt can’t argue with that.

When they leave, he drops a five dollar bill in his guitar case, hurrying away before the boy can see him blushing.

-

November picks up with the cold of fall and Kurt is swamped with projects and papers and tests. It’s a week before he returns to the coffee shop, ready to load up with caffeine and settle down for a long night of studying.

The boy is still there, singing softly on the corner. He smiles when Kurt walks by, tips his head ever so slightly. A curl brushes loose over his forehead, his eyes warm and brown and Kurt feels a flush creeping into his cheeks as he smiles back.

Sometimes, when Kurt looks up, he sees the boy looking at him through the window.

-

It snows but the boy is still there. The thick white flakes twirl down, catch on his eyelashes and sometimes, in between songs, he catches them on his tongue. Kurt barely hears what Rachel’s going on about, just keeps gazing out the window.

There’s something mystical about it, the way the light from the sun catches the snow, the boy, with his worn hat and frayed fingerless gloves, stationary among the people rushing by. The way he keeps playing, keeps singing, smiling at every person who drops him some coins.

“You should buy him a coffee,” Rachel suggests, when they’re getting ready to leave. The wind is picking up, the boy pausing more frequently to rub his hands together for warmth, pulling his jacket tighter around himself.

“Wouldn’t that be…weird?”

Rachel shrugs.

“I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”

Kurt considers saying no, brushing it off as one of Rachel’s crazy ideas, but he sees the boy shiver and he changes his mind.

The boy looks shocked, eyes impossibly wide when Kurt offers him the coffee.

“It’s a mocha. I didn’t know what you’d like,” Kurt mutters, suddenly feeling ridiculous. Hazel eyes search his face, lips parting as he searches for words.

“Thank you. Really… you didn’t have to.”

Kurt shrugs, looking at his feet.

“It’s cold out,” he mumbles and his cheeks feel like they’re on fire.

“You’re very talented,” Rachel offers, squeezing Kurt’s arm reassuringly. The boy nods at her.

“Thank you.” He looks up at Kurt. “Thank you.”

Kurt clears his throat, looks at Rachel.

“We should…”

Rachel nods and pulls Kurt away, with a wave back at the boy.

-

Two days later, the boy isn’t there.

Kurt feels a surprising tug of disappointment, tries not to think about how empty the corner looks without him. He supposes it was only a matter of time. The cold is biting and Kurt knows there are other places, better places, warmer places, where he could have gone.

Today, his coffee tastes bland and he can’t help but stare out the window and worry.

-

Kurt goes for coffee every day after that, hoping. Everyday he’s met with the same emptiness, the day somehow more bleak without the boy’s music, his blushing smile. Kurt knows it’s ridiculous, but he wishes the boy had told him. Had given some sort of sign at least, that he was leaving.

Except, on the fifth day, he’s back.

He’s back, but his hair lies limp on his head, dark circles ring his eyes, his face lined with exhaustion. He doesn’t sing, just strums his guitar, shoulders hunched, pausing to cough into his sleeve. Kurt feels his heart catch as he watches, aches to do something.

But he doesn’t know what.

He keeps his head down when he leaves, hopes the boy doesn’t notice him, a rotten feeling growing in his stomach.

-

Kurt doesn’t go back.

It hurts too much, caring.

-

He’s late for a group meeting, has ten minutes to make the twenty minute walk. He cuts through the park, pulls out his phone to start typing out apologies when he slows… stops. There’s a shape huddled on the bench, which in itself isn’t unusual, people sleep on the benches all the time. But he sees the curly hair, the worn jacket, the guitar propped against his feet, and something tugs him forward.

He can’t really explain why. He’s certainly not the type of person who talks to people sleeping on park benches but he needs to see, needs to know.

“Um… excuse me?” Kurt says, voice soft with nerves, unsure. The shape shifts, a face peeking out from under the jacket and Kurt’s heart jumps into his throat. It is the boy from the corner.

“Hi,” Kurt offers lamely, realizes he doesn’t really know what to say. The boy blinks, face scrunching in confusion.

“Hi?” He counters, sitting up and sliding back into his jacket with a shiver. His face is pale under dark scruff, bags framing red eyes, and he looks like he hasn’t showered in far too hlong. 

“I’m… um…” Kurt starts, falters.

“I remember you,” the boy says with a small smile, and Kurt blushes. It seems to be all he does around him, lately. He shuffles, trying to figure out what to say next, and the boy raises an eyebrow.

“Did you need help with something?”

“Can I buy you lunch?” Kurt blurts out all at once, feeling as surprised as the boy looks.

“You want to buy-”

“Please?” Kurt cuts him off, hands wringing together nervously. “If… if you want, I mean. I would like to.”

The boy looks tempted to refuse, his brow creasing with hesitancy, and Kurt can’t blame him, he must look insane right now, but after a moment he nods.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Kurt repeats with a smile, ignores the buzz of his phone that must be his group members. “Um… I’m Kurt, by the way.”

The boy stands, reaches out a hand. His fingers are freezing, his gloves scratchy.

“I’m Blaine.”

Kurt opens his mouth to say something, doesn’t know what to say, so he closes it, waits for Blaine to button up his jacket and grab his guitar. They walk silently, Blaine trailing behind Kurt, looking slightly uncomfortable as Kurt leads them to the small café on the edge of the park.

“Is this okay?” Kurt asks, feeling out of his element. What is he even doing? He’s taking a complete stranger to lunch, a stranger who sleeps on park benches and smells like he hasn’t seen a shower in a least a week. This is not something that Kurt Hummel does.

Blaine shrugs, looking obviously as confused as Kurt feels. So Kurt holds the door open for him, can’t help the pang of guilt when Blaine relaxes in the warmth, suddenly realizing how cold it actually is outside. It’s busy inside, full of people taking their lunch breaks, mothers with small children wiggling in their seats, all looking up as the bell chimes when they walk in. Kurt can feel the lingering eyes on them, can see the way Blaine shifts uncomfortably at the attention.

“Do you mind if I, um, use the restroom?” Blaine asks, voice wavering.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Kurt says quickly, reaches his hand out to hold Blaine’s guitar. Their fingers brush as Blaine hands it over and Kurt feels his face flushing, Blaine offering a quick smile and hurrying towards the bathroom.

Kurt finds a rickety table and orders them both coffees and hot sandwiches. He drums his fingers across the table nervously, thoughts racing through his mind faster than he can keep up with. He’s itching to text Rachel, to tell her that he’s here, taking the cute boy from the corner to lunch.

Oh god. He’s taking the cute boy from the corner to lunch. The cute, homeless boy, who he doesn’t know anything about. He could be a drug addict, or a pickpocket, or anything. Kurt knows nothing about him, except that he plays nice music and sleeps on park benches. What is he doing? But movement catches his eye, Blaine leaving the bathroom, walking timidly across the diner. He’s not wearing his gloves, his hands pink like he spent too long scrubbing them, his hair awkwardly patted flat, slightly damp around his forehead as if he splashed his face with water. He’s straightened his clothes, and looks so apprehensive and nervous and hopeful that Kurt feels a tightness in his chest and knows he made the right choice.

 Blaine slips gingerly into the chair across from Kurt, his motions more graceful than Kurt would have expected. He runs a nervous hand behind his neck, opens his mouth to say something when the waitress comes with their coffee.

“I ordered for you,” Kurt explains, suddenly doubting himself. “I hope that’s okay.”

Blaine nods,  lets his eyes flutter shut as he wraps his fingers around the cup, taking a sip before it even has a chance to cool off. Kurt bites his lip and stares at his own coffee.

“Thank you,” Blaine says, softly and Kurt looks back up. Blaine’s eyes are wide and earnest, looking at Kurt like he’s the most wonderful thing he’s ever seen. “This is… it’s amazing.”

And Kurt feels that pang, that twist in his gut that this measly cup of coffee is the best thing Blaine’s had in who knows how long.

“It’s no problem,” he says with a shrug, as if he does this sort of thing every day. Kurt takes a sip of his coffee, silence settling over them.

“You’re very good…at guitar,” Kurt adds quickly, ducking to blush. “How did you learn?”

Blaine smiles, but his eyes are downcast. “My brother taught me when I was little.”

“Where is your brother now?” Kurt asks before realizing delving into potentially sensitive family history might not be the best conversation choice. “You don’t have to…”

Kurt’s cut off as the waitress returns with their sandwiches, eyes Blaine warily as he smiles and thanks her.

“It’s okay,” Blaine reassures once the waitress leaves. “Cooper, my brother, he’s… not around.”

It’s purposefully vague and Kurt can see in the way the Blaine focuses in on his sandwich that he doesn’t really want to talk about it.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt mumbles and pokes at his own sandwich. Blaine offers him a reassuring look before he takes a bite and literally moans. Kurt just watches, mouth falling open a little in surprise at the sight. Blaine grins sheepishly around his mouthful of sandwich.

“It’s really good.”

Kurt takes an experimental bite of his own sandwich. It’s good, but not amazing. Definitely not worth the sounds Blaine is making and the way he is staring at it like it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten, but Kurt smiles in agreement anyway.

“So, what do you do?” Blaine asks when he swallows his food.

“Um… I go to school, for costume design. I used to be a performance major but, well, my real love has always been with fashion but I wasn’t ready to leave the theater behind so…” Kurt trails off with a blush, wonders how many more times he can blush before all the blood rushes to his head and he passes out. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to ramble.”

“No, that’s fascinating, really. That you’re so passionate about something.”

Kurt looks at Blaine, really looks, tries to see past the tangled curls and ratted clothes, past the too-pale face and dirty fingernails. He sees the boy staring back at him, a smile curling at his lips. Sees more than the boy on the corner, more than a boy who sleeps on park benches and moans around sandwiches. He sees a boy who’s probably loved something, who’s lost something, who’s just trying to get by, but doesn’t know how.

“Do you…?” Kurt asks, heart suddenly pounding nervously, “have something that you’re passionate about?”

Blaine looks at the sandwich in his hands, eyes far away.

“I did.”

Kurt looks down at Blaine’s guitar, the case battered and worn, the handles smooth from Blaine’s fingers.

“What about your guitar? When you play, I… I can tell. You love it.”

Blaine looks up at Kurt, meets his eyes and Kurt can see the surprise and confusion them, along with something else he can’t quite place. Blaine looks back down.

“I do. Music, it never really leaves you.”

Kurt feels his mouth twitch into a smile.

“I know what you mean.”

“My brother used to tell me that music writes itself into your heart, like a tattoo. Once you have it, it will always be with you.”

Kurt licks his lips, eyes flickering over the boy across from him. “Your brother sounds very smart.”

Blaine smiles, but it’s thin, wavering. “He tried.”

Kurt’s not sure how to interpret that, but the way Blaine focuses his attention on eating tells him that he shouldn’t push the subject, and Kurt lets it go. They eat in silence for awhile, Blaine stopping only to cough; a long, wet cough deep in his lungs. Concern flutters in Kurt’s stomach, memories of Blaine gone from the corner, how tired and worn he looks now and he feels so helpless, like all he has to offer is a measly cup of coffee and a sandwich.

“I hope I’m not interrupting any plans,” Blaine says when Kurt’s phone vibrates once again, still slightly out of breath from his coughing fit. Kurt sighs because he wants to tell Blaine no, of course you’re not, but his group is still waiting for him and due dates are approaching and he can’t justify delaying any longer.

“I have a meeting, I’m sorry.” Kurt’s not really sure why he’s apologizing, but there’s something about this boy, that makes him want to stay, even if he doesn’t know what to say.

“I understand,” Blaine says, standing up.

“You should take these,” Kurt motions towards the halves of their sandwiches that are still uneaten. Blaine looks reluctant, like he’s not sure if Kurt will think he’s asking for more than he should, but nods eventually. Kurt scoops the sandwiches into a box and hands it to Blaine, who holds it gingerly, leaves money for the waitress, and follows Blaine outside. The cold air hits them with a blast, Kurt shivering and Blaine pulling his coat tighter around him. Kurt thinks back to the park bench, how cold Blaine’s hand had felt in his own, an uneasy feeling settling inside him. They hesitate, both looking like they have something to say, but don’t know how to say it.

“Do you…” Kurt starts, bites his lip. “Where are you going to go, now?”

Blaine gives a nonchalant shrug, like the fact that he has nowhere to go is no big deal.

“Do…” Kurt pauses, not quite sure where these words are coming from but unable to stop them. “Do you need a place to stay?”

Blaine looks surprised, searches Kurt’s face with wide, earnest eyes.

“Thank you Kurt, you’re very nice, but… but you don’t want someone like me around.”

Kurt opens his mouth to protest but Blaine shakes his head.

“Really, thank you for lunch, it was amazing. Most people wouldn’t have done something like that, for a stranger. You’re… special, Kurt. Don’t lose that.”

And with another smile Blaine walks away, becomes another nameless person on the street.