Title: If You Ever Lost a Light
Summary: Based on this photoset. Kurt is a prince who is forced to leave his home after a rebellion. He finds himself in Lima, Ohio, where he finds out blending in and avoiding troubles might be harder than he thought, especially when he meets the school’s badboy, Blaine Anderson.
FF.net: link here. (although it’s far less advanced)
In a 20/20 hindsight, maybe dressing up the next day wasn’t the best of decisions. But sadly, as you wake up (still slightly overwhelmed by the hour, because, well, it’s only the second day you’re doing this), and you walk towards your closet, vowing that today you will look fabulous - which you always do - but also dress as you usually do, you don’t have a 20/20 hindsight.
Which is how Kurt ended up climbing down the stairs in an H&M gray pants striped white, gray Altru Apparel shirt with mustaches prints, and his most-beloved black Dr. Martens lace-up boots.
Rachel was already waiting for him downstairs – he tried not to stare too long at her outfit, since she went back to sweaters with animal prints and he wasn’t feeling like throwing up this early in the morning – and after a brief breakfast they drove together to school, this time in Rachel’s car.
He didn’t know what he was expecting when he was standing by his brand new locker, staring inside it and trying to ponder his decor options; maybe he waited for either Mercedes or Tina, who shared his first class – Home ec – to show up. Perhaps he thought Santana might show up again, with her cutting comments and witty, sharp tongue. But he certainly could not predict the strong shove that sent him flying onto his locker, thankfully only hitting his head against the metal and not against any sharp corner.
He turned his head as quickly as he could, mouth agape and vision swimming for a second, to see two retreating tall, big figures clad in red letterman jackets high-fiving each other as one of them called out, “See ya later, new kid!”
Kurt was neither stupid nor uneducated in the ways of high-school, despite never attending one. He knew exactly who those were, and he knew all the reasons why he did not want to make them his enemies.
He really did watch every high-school movie existing; from old-fashioned classics like the Breakfast Club to modern comedies like Mean Girls, he had seen it all, and he knew he had three things that made him an easy target: he was new, he was weak in their eyes, and he was gay.
He could have fooled himself and pretended they did not know that, but he never once in his life made a move towards the closet; Narnia was long gone from his vacation-sites list. His fashion-sense, looks and hobbies matched the stereotype so well no one ever doubted it: he was as queer as a three dollar bill, and he was proud.
Sadly, feeble-minded teenagers translated that fact in their slow brain into a frailty.
Kurt sighed, an action of mixed weariness and despair, turned and pressed his back against the lockers, letting his head fall back on the metal with a thump. His head was still pounding and his shoulder was sore, but he ignored the pain and shut the locker close, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He was in Lima solely for the fact that even if he was pushed into lockers every single day, he was still safer here, in a homophobic closed-minded Midwest hole, than home in his accepting, open kingdom. The mere thought made him sick to his stomach.
At least they got what they wanted, he told himself as he made his way to homeroom. And now he can return to being invisible. They won’t seek out for him again, and he definitely was not about to go after them – he was attempting to avoid troubles, not the opposite.
Sadly, Kurt naively understated high-school bullies’ devotion.
By the time Kurt headed to his fifth period, US History, he was pushed into lockers three times, shoulder-checked at least five, and had his books ‘accidentally’ knocked out of his hands twice. Every time the jacket-wearing boys approached him he took a deep breath and forced himself to stay quiet instead of reacting – both because he thought maybe the lack of reaction will make them stop, (it worked on wild animals, and these boys weren’t much more advanced than that anyway), and because he was fighting all of his instincts to refrain from making a scene. Kurt wasn’t someone whose spirit was crushed easily: he was a fighter, and he was proud of that, but neither Ohio nor public high-school was the right place to showcase that quality. Particularly when he was supposed to go as surreptitious as he could.
He had lunch with Santana, Brittany, Quinn and Mercedes, along with the three new New Direction boys he got to know that day – Sam Evans, Artie Abrams, and Noah Puckerman, who had narrowed his eyes and threatened to drown his clothes in acid if he ever called him Noah instead of Puck. After that he turned out to actually be quite friendly, but Kurt decided to not test him. Rachel and Tina were held back by their biology teacher, but they promised to catch up with him before Glee practice began, so that was how he ended up sitting in a table full of McKinley’s former ‘cool kids’.
They all asked him how his first and second day was going, and he instinctually decided to keep the violence he was the target of to himself. They didn’t seem to notice anything unusual with his behavior – granted, they didn’t know him very well, but he let himself believe it was because of his flawless acting skills – and so lunch passed by, and before he noticed, he was already making his way to the US History classroom.
Mr. Thompson didn’t spare a second longer than necessary to help Kurt adjust; he handed him the paperwork with a strict, “This is the martial – learn it,” and turned back around swiftly to find the papers he seemed to be looking for on his desk.
"Um, excuse me?" Kurt said awkwardly, hitching his messenger-bag higher on his shoulder. "Where should I sit?"
The teacher again didn’t bother looking up at his new student, he simply said with his eyes still of his desk, “There is only one seat not taken, find it.”
Kurt nodded slowly, making a note in his head to never turn to this specific teacher at time of need, and turned to the class again, where students were slowly taking seats while chatting to each other. The first thing he noticed was that in contrary of the rest of the classrooms he attended so far, this one had desks for two instead of one – must be because this particular classroom was in the older wing of the building. Mr. Thompson was correct – there was only one empty seat, in the left back corner of the room. He could see someone was sitting in the chair on the left, but he couldn’t see his face because of the tall blonde boy sitting in the desk in front of it. Kurt sighed and started making his way to his new seat, navigating between the masses of teenagers standing in the aisle. It was only when he was moving past the giggly short girl who was leaning into the tall blonde’s space he could see his new spot fully, gulping the when the boy he was going to share the desk with came into view. God, when did his life turned into a Twilight movie? He half expected Taylor Lautner to burst inside shirtless. (Not that he would’ve minded, of course).
The boy was annoyingly familiar – though Kurt would never admit that to anyone, especially not to himself - with dark unruly curly hair, tight gray V-shirt stretched over his muscled chest and broad shoulders (don’t think about it, Kurt, don’t go there), dark ripped jeans drawn to the length of his legs who were propped on the wooden desk, crossed at the ankle. He was wearing black worn-out All Star shoes and his – trademark? Kurt guessed it was – leather jacket thrown over the back of his chair.
"I don’t keep the secret formula of Coca-Cola in my shoes," a sharp, dark voice made Kurt jump up, eyes widening as he looked up to see the boy’s eyes opening, one hand reaching up to pull out an earbud from his right ear. "I might keep it in my pants, though – you’re welcome to check," he smirked.
Bright scarlet blush spread high over Kurt’s cheekbones, and then lower, to his ears and neck; he hoped the boy didn’t notice it and clutched the strap of his bag tighter unconsciously. “I- um, I was just…”
"Whatever," the other boy huffed, sticking the bud back in his ear and closing his eyes shut again, his chair titling back dangerously. Kurt noticed his feet moving slightly to the beat of the music he could faintly hear, even through the earphones.
"Settle down, settle down!" The teacher’s voice called, and Kurt hurried to put his bag down on the desk and take his seat. The boy next to him opened one eye to see the students rushing to their places, sighed, and took the earphones out. He didn’t take his feet off the desk, though.
Kurt reached into the bag and drew out a red notebook and a black pen; the boy next to him huffed, and when Kurt turned to look at him with a frown, he found the eyes on him. Eyes who were big, and hazel – hints of honey, and chocolate, and green. His eyelashes were so long and thick as well, like a wall protecting the gems that were his eyes.
It took Kurt a few seconds, but eventually he realized Hazel Eyes was speaking, his lips forming words that were aimed at Kurt. Oh god, don’t focus on his lips now, too. “-inest pens, Celeste. Mr. Thompson is all shitty attitude and nothing interesting.”
The prince blinked a few time, the writing tool twitching between his fingers. “I – um… my name’s Kurt.”
Hazel Eyes smirked, leaning forward until he was inches away from Kurt, making Kurt’s eyes widen slightly and his lips part with unspoken words. He moved as far back in his chair as he could, but that only made the other boy smirk wider. “Let me tell you a little something ‘bout myself, Celeste. I don’t care about people. I don’t hang out with people, and I do not learn people’s names, okay?” Kurt automatically nodded slightly, a tiny jerk of his chin, and the other boy’s dark eyes seemed to be smirking just as wolfishly as his mouth. “Good. Glad we made it clear.” He then pulled away, titling his chair back yet again, his eyes closing; obviously, he wasn’t planning on listening to the teacher anytime soon.
"You should come next time," Brittany grinned, her right hand fingers unwittingly coiling and uncoiling around the hem of her red Cheerio skirt. Kurt fleetingly wondered if she had ADHD, but none of the three other girls around him seemed to notice, so he let it go. The blonde pressed up against the metal of his neighboring locker as he opened his own and shoved his French book in. "Our sleepovers are so much fun. Usually they’re at Rachel’s place ‘cause her parents are, like, FBI spies and they’re never home on weekends, but sometimes they’re at Quinn’s or Tina’s," she averted her eyes from Kurt’s face to what looked like aimless staring at the air. "We had it at my place once but my hamster tries to kill us in the middle of the night. He’s totally that serial killer from the news."
Kurt looked away from his now closed locker and blinked at the blonde, then turned his head to Mercedes on his other side with a clear as crystal expression of, 'What?'
The black girl shook her head, the curly edges of her hair bouncing on her shoulders. “Anyway,” she said, drawing out the word. “Brittany’s right – you should totally join out next sleepover. It’d be fun!”
The prince smiled, bowing his head in slight embarrassment. “It’s nice to know you’d like me to come.”
Tina rolled her eyes fondly from Mercedes’ left side, crossing her arms over her ModCloth’s Golden Merry Mary checkered yellow dress. “Kurt, you literally live at Rachel’s house – it’s not like we wouldn’t have invited you even if we didn’t like you. Which we do. So please join, next time?”
Brittany nodded enthusiastically, Mercedes smirked and raised an eyebrow – obviously setting him up for a challenge, and Rachel just smiled and bat her eyelashes at him; she already told him how much fun it would be if they had a male point of view on the subjects they frequently discussed. He smiled back at all three of them, hitching his messenger-bag higher up on his shoulder, and opened his mouth to reply – but then his (brand new) iPhone beeped in his pocket.
"Hold on a second," he mumbled, fishing it out of his tight pants – which was a bit more difficult than it might look. He had yet to give anyone but Rachel, Quinn, Mercedes and Tina his new phone-number, and it couldn’t be one of them, since three of them stood there with him and the last will attend Glee club with him, in about fifteen minutes. That indicated to only one conclusion: one of his friends back home sent him a message.
He almost dropped the phone in his hurry to slide open the screen and then the text.
He couldn’t be bothered to look up to Mercedes’ face as she spoke, but she sounded vaguely amused as she said, “Geez, boy, calm down! One would think someone just told you you won tickets to Madonna’s concert, backstage!”
i knO U R worEd. we’re K. i’L caL U n 10 mins.
The prince took a deep breath. They were okay – all of them, he hoped, since Sugar didn’t specify who ‘we’ was; and she was going to call him – which was quite the privilege, since he wasn’t able to truly communicate with any of his friends or family members so far. He checked the internet daily to keep up with the news America obviously wasn’t broadcasting on the television, but there was nothing specific – only the vague details of the attempted rebellion that turned into a full-out war. The reporters mentioned the death-count, that thankfully wasn’t high, but that was it; nothing about casualties or the royal family.
"Are you okay?" Tina’s voice asked, making Kurt exhale and look up at the worried faces of all three girls. "No Madonna tickets, huh?"
"Have your lawn caught on fire?" Brittany asked, twirling a blonde strand on her finger. "That happened to me once. It sucks."
"Kurt?" Rachel frowned, biting her lower lip worriedly. "Should we – should we leave?" She was trying to ask him what was going on with her eyes, he knew she was, but it’s not like he could answer her – that was the point of his cover.
"Um, yeah, no, it’s okay," he said quickly, waving his hand dismissively. "You guys go ahead to Glee club; I’ll catch up with you later."
"Are you sure?" Mercedes raised an eyebrow, placing her hand on her hip and cocking it to the side. "You should tell us if something’s wrong, you know. Maybe we can help."
I doubt it, a voice in his head said quietly. “Uh, no, everything is fine. Really, you can go. Sam showed me where the choir room is earlier – I’ll find it.”
Tina nodded slowly, as did Mercedes, and they both turned on their heels and walked down the hallway, dragging Brittany, who didn’t seem to notice anything was off at all, behind them. Rachel gave him one last questioning look before reaching out and patting his shoulder with a half-sympathetic half-worried glance, and then she left as well to catch up with the other girls, hair flipping dramatically over her shoulder.
The moment they disappeared around the corner Kurt let out another huge breath and slumped back against the lockers, clutching the cell-phone close to his body. Sugar didn’t said anything bad in her text, but he knew her – she wouldn’t said anything important when he couldn’t hear her voice, and she definitely wouldn’t tell him anything bad through a text-message. For all he knew the kingdom was subjugated, people he cared for were hurt, and someone could even be de-
Kurt blanched, pressing closer to the cool metal of his locker, fighting the urge to groan in despair. He wasn’t having one of his finest moments – not even remotely close to that, actually - and he didn’t need the two jocks who had been his biggest bullies through the day to harass him again. He did everything right – kept quiet, didn’t show reaction, let them laugh over it; why couldn’t they just leave him alone?
"Oh, look, the queer is all alone!" The black one smirked, punching the locker next to Kurt just forcibly enough to create a loud noise that made the boy jump up in surprise.
"Leave me al-" Kurt started to mumble as he tried to walk off, but the boy’s hand grasped his shoulder with great strength, making him unwillingly stay rooted to his spot.
The taller one of the two laughed, not batting an eyelash at his friend’s use of force. “Totally is. You know, he looks kind of pale to me, don’t you think?”
"Definitely pale," the first sneered. The second boy smirked in agreement, taking one step towards Kurt. He had an evil glint in his eyes that only made Kurt try to back away from him further; he was out to get troubles – and worse, he was out to get Kurt.
"I didn’t do anything to you, can’t you just walk away?" Kurt said determinedly, gripping the strap of his bag so hard his knuckles turned white.
"I think he should drink something," the second boy said in mock-seriousness, completely ignoring Kurt’s words, cocking his head to the side. "Do you agree, Azimo?"
"Hell yeah," the black one – Azimo, apparently – said maliciously, punching the metal with lesser force this time. "Give it to him, man. I’ve been dying to do this all day. New kid and a fag? You had this coming for you, gay-face.”
Kurt swallowed, closed his eyes to calm himself, and opened his mouth to say something, but his words refused to leave his mouth when a sudden freezing shock went through his entire upper body; his face, neck, shoulders and chest were all covered in a sticky, gooey red mixture of ice and sugar. The two boys’ gloating laughter accompanied their departure, the sound weakening as their footsteps disappeared from earshot, probably heading out of the building as the day ended ten minutes earlier.
The prince was left to stand there against his locker, covered in the sugary smoothie the McKinley students called ‘slushie’ - if what Mercedes told him was correct - gaping and blinking quickly to prevent the liquid from dripping into his eyes. He quickly reached up to wipe the slushie away from his face; in a fleeting second his eye caught the bathroom sign, and he hurried down the hallway to push the door open and throw his now sugar-covered bag on the floor beneath one of the sinks.
He took a deep breath, bracing his hands on the sink and leaning forward, his face inches away from the mirror. His hair was half dyed in red, his cheek and forehead were sticky, and his neck and shoulders felt numb from the cold. It only took him one point eight seconds to reach out, turn on the water, and duck his head under the stream with as little gasps for air as he could. About a minute later, when the water started to flow down his back, soaking his shirt, he pulled away and turned the stream off again, shaking his head like an unhappy dog with a frown on his face. His outfit was undoubtedly ruined, as was his relatively okay day.
The sound of his phone repeatedly beeping inside his bag was weak but hearable – as there was no noise in the bathroom aside of Kurt’s heavy breaths – and he crouched down to pull the iPhone out, sighing with relief when Sugar’s name popped over the screen. He paid almost no mind to the surely filthy floor as he sat down, back pressed against the wall between two sinks. His clothes were destroyed beyond fixing anyway – no point in keeping it clean now.
"Sugar," he breathed out, not bothering to even wait for her ‘hello’ when he pressed the ‘accept call’ button.
"Hey, K," her slightly muffled, tired voice answered him. He could guess she was somewhere with bad reception – probably the palace’s basement, where it’s safest; the mere thought made his heart clench. "How’ya doing’ there?"
He exhaled loudly, curling his knees up and hugging them close to his body with the arm that wasn’t holding the cell-phone. He received specific instructions from his father and their General about his communication with the ones back home, so he knew that neither he nor Sugar could say anything about where he was or what was going on with the rebellion. “It’s pretty okay, I guess. Could’ve been worse.”
He knew she won’t believe him, though – Rory and Sugar both knew him since they were four-years-old and Kurt was five, and after almost thirteen years of friendship it was near impossible to hide anything from them. “I don’t believe you, Sweetiepie,” her high, breathless voice answered him. “Now tell me what’s really wrong.”
There was silence for a few moments before he sighed and bowed his head, gaze fixed on the red spots on his brand-new Dr. Martens boots. Hopefully he’d be able to get it out. “It’s – I mean, it’s mostly fine, because my hosts are really nice and I met all of her friends and they seem fairly nice as well, but – It’s just…”
"Not somewhere you fit in?"
"Yes," he agreed. "Yes. Not somewhere I fit in. And, I mean, I know I’m an undercover prince and all –" he quickly looked around; just to make sure no one entered the bathroom when he didn’t notice and heard him. "And I’m an heir to a kingdom and all, but I’m not spoiled, am I? I just, there is the football-team here, and they’re…"
"Bullies, like those movies you like?"
"I don’t know what to tell you, Kurtsie," she said, and she sounded sincere. "I mean, be strong and all? You know that if I was there –"
"You’d throw your purse on them and hope to poke one or two of their eyes out?" He suggested, a hint of a smile on his lips.
"Oh, no, that’s barbaric, Kurt!"
He laughed, letting her familiar voice and slightly absurd ideas to fill him in. He wished he could be there with them, if only to be certain nobody he loved was seriously hurt or injured, and to defend his country and his people – but he couldn’t, and so those short moments of normality with her were a blessing he was eternally grateful for.
Outside the bathroom, leaning on the wall next to the closed door with her ear pressed against the wood to hear everything better, a Latina girl with a tight black ponytail shook off her internal shock and smirked; she bended over and picked up her bag from the floor, pulling out her Blackberry and pressing the Google link.
A prince, huh?
(click here to continue to part 7a)
(Kurt’s outfit is this)
(Blaine's outfit is this)
(Tina’s outfit is this)
By the way, do the pics I always add annoy you? It will be more than just outfits soon – real places, houses, locations, etc. I just love to add a bit of reality next to the fic. Is it okay?