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31 August 2011 @ 09:28 am
Seize The Time | Kurt/Blaine | PG-13 | 1/2  
Title: Seize The Time
Fandom: Glee AU, with a little bit of Star Trek: The Next Generation mixed in.
Pairings/Characters: Kurt/Blaine, along with minor instances of other canon pairings/ ensemble
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 18,000
Summary: Kurt Hummel gave up his dream of becoming a star years ago and is currently working as a special effects make up artist on a workshop production of Star Trek: the Musical. Enter Blaine Anderson, who has just been cast as Will Riker, and who is desperate to hear Kurt sing.
Author's Note: Written for klainebigbang. Beta'ed by dancinbutterfly, with assistance from pyroclastic. The absolutely amazing fanmix was created by queenofgoat. You can find it here and I highly recommend listening to it while you read. It's stunning.

1 | 2 | Optional Author's Notes | Fanmix by queenofgoat



Kurt Hummel is going to kill half his team. There’s nothing left to be done for it because Quinn is half an hour behind on the beauty makeup she’s supposed to be applying to Rachel, Matt’s prosthetic is currently stuck to the mold because Tina forgot to put releaser in it before she poured in the silicone, Mercedes is still trying to restitch the costume Finn ripped when he tripped over his own shadow during dress rehearsal, and Santana is snapping at everyone who comes within three feet of her because she fucked up Mike’s hair with too much product and is trying to wash it all back out and start over with only minutes to go before the curtain goes up.

It shouldn’t be this hard to pull together a workshop production of Star Trek: The Musical. Honestly, the production was designed to keep the prosthetics as simple as possible, all things considered. There were no Cardassians or Borgs and only one Klingon. Data had even been out for a very long time until Kurt weaseled his way into a meeting with the guy who designed Elphaba’s make up for Wicked and took notes on creating such a full-body paint job so quickly and painlessly. Everything about the entire production had been designed to make his (well, everyone’s, but particularly Kurt’s) job easier.

So this should really not be happening right before a workshop production because if this doesn’t go well, they’re going to lose out on a metric fuckton of funding. And Kurt really, really wants to be able to say he worked on a Broadway show—even if it was from behind the scenes, and even if it was something as patently ridiculous as Star Trek: The Musical.

He inhales, forcing himself to find his center or whatever bullshit it is that Rachel’s always babbling about, and grabs a chisel before dropping to his knees to help Tina chip the positive of Matt’s face out of the mold. They’ll have to get Matt back in to do another cast of his face before they can make his forehead piece for the next show, and he will likely attempt a double-murder on them using only his glare, but Kurt would rather lose the face cast than lose the prosthetic.

They get the piece out ten minutes into the first act, and do a piss poor rush job of applying it just in time for Worf to make his entrance at the beginning of act two. It looks awful and the part of Kurt that is a perfectionist when it comes to appearance—both his own and his cast’s—is dying inside because he can spot the mistakes from where he stands in the wings, but at least nothing drastic happens, like the piece falling off mid-performance. Which is saying something, really, because Worf has a huge dance number in act three called the Bat’leth Boogie and Kurt is fully bracing himself for Matt’s wig or facial appliances to fall off while he’s getting his groove on, but thankfully, everything stays in its place.

The worst tragedy that goes down—at least, worst that Kurt has to be concerned with, since he is neither responsible for nor can do anything to help Finn’s horrific attempts at “dancing”—is that Rachel’s awful Troi hairdo starts to fall flat halfway through act three, but Kurt decides that if anyone asks, he will say it was intentional, as an homage to late eighties/early nineties hair fiascoes and thus a shout out to the die-hard fans. What he will not do is throw Santana under the bus for her mistake because Kurt realized on day two of this production that everyone outside of it was going to think it was a joke until they started performing and proved everyone wrong. The only option was to stick together, warts and all, even when they hated each other and there was drama, and present a united front. If that meant he’d have to share some of her blame for the hair, then fine. Kurt would take that one for the team and be sure to remind her of his preferred way of applying mousse before the next showing.

Schuester, their director, stops backstage after the final curtain, praising Rachel’s solo in ‘Betazoid Blues’, but he’s interrupted mid-rave by Figgins, their producer, who cuts him off to remind them all that this performance was about gaining funding and proving that the production was being taken seriously and done artistically, “not Finn Hudson tripping all over himself, Mike Chang’s pitch being off during the entire opening number, and Matt Rutherford’s Klingon forehead looking more like The Original Series’ Klingons than The Next Generation’s.”

All in all, it’s a fairly somber mood when Kurt packs up his kit and heads home to the tiny, cramped apartment he shares with Mercedes mostly out of necessity (a play that’s still in the workshop stage really doesn’t pay that well...or ever, really) but also out of having realized long ago that they worked better together than apart. It’s been written into his contract for the last two years that any time he is hired to do special effects make up and designs, Mercedes is hired as costume director. She knows exactly how to compliment his work without overshadowing it, and he knows how to trust her instincts, even when her insistence on short sleeves means he has to make arm prosthetics, too.

Neither of them say anything on their walk to the subway, but Kurt knows they are both thinking exactly the same thing: this production is doomed without funding and that performance simply wasn’t good enough to guarantee them any new sources. No funding, the production will shut down, and not only will they both be left looking for jobs—again—but they will both actually miss the people they work with, no matter how much Kurt wanted to strangle half of them earlier today. They’ve become family in the last few months and the idea of losing this disparate group of misfits—who Kurt just knows are capable of so much better than what happened today—from their lives is depressing just to think about.

They barely say goodnight once they reach the apartment and it takes Kurt hours to fall asleep that night, unable to stop thinking about what his team’s mistakes might cost them all.

***


Two things happen at once at the when Kurt arrives at the production meeting the next morning. Or, rather, two things are happening when he gets there, and it takes him about ten minutes of watching Schuester try to placate a pissed off Rachel Berry and Finn Hudson before he finally manages to catch enough of the conversation to piece it together.

“This is a good thing, Rachel. Last night’s focus group suggested that the play would work better with a love story and it bumps you up to the female lead as one half of it.”

“You’re cutting one of my songs,” she snaps. “How am I supposed to wow the audience and get enough buzz to leverage an audition at a better show if you cut out my solos?”

“I’m with Rachel, Mr. Schue,” Finn puts in. “I don’t like the idea of some new guy showing up and taking the spotlight from the rest of us who’ve been here all along. And anyway, I don’t want to watch some other guy make out with my girlfriend.”

“It’s acting, Finn,” Schuester sighs, put-upon, and turns his attention back to Rachel. “And Rachel, that’s...I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“Say you’re not going to add in Will Riker,” she suggests. “We don’t need a Riker. Finn is fine as the male lead and he’s turned Wesley Crusher into a...fascinating character.”

“Actually, he’s kind of a douche,” Santana offers without looking up from her nails.

“Wesley is often misunderstood,” Rachel counters. “The people around him just couldn’t appreciate his talent—”

“I was talking about Hudson,” Santana replies idly, “but for the record, even the guy who played Crusher thinks he’s a douche. Although I can see why you’d over-identify...”

“Mr. Schuester!” Rachel pleads again, “We really don’t need—”

“We do, and we’re holding emergency auditions tomorrow at three. Artie’s working on revising the script and we should have a new draft by the end of the week.”

“But—”

“Rachel, if we want this show to make it out of workshop and into previews, we need more funding. To get more funding, we have to make the show better and more appealing to a mass audience. The focus group thinks that adding a love story between your character and Riker will do that. This is for the good of the production.”

She glares at him, then snaps, “One day, you’ll figure out how to work with my talent instead of against it.” With that, she grabs Finn’s hand, turns on her heel, and storms out, leaving a shell-shocked Schuester in her wake.

“I want a new guy in here just to piss her off now,” Santana says into the silence, and Kurt bites his lip to keep from laughing. After a moment, Schuester turns to the rest of the cast and crew and sighs.

“Okay, guys,” he says, “let’s talk about what went wrong last night.”

“Everything?” Quinn suggests dryly, but no one laughs.

“Last night was a hot damn mess,” Mercedes sighs, and takes her seat with the rest of the makeup, hair, and wardrobe team.

“It was like the Chaos Theory came out to prove once and for all that it was right.” Tina picks at the hem of her sleeve morosely and Mike puts his arm around her shoulders.

“Okay,” Schuester says, “then let’s talk about how we can fix that for our next performance.”

“We could all pay attention to what the hell we’re doing, Santana says, shooting Tina a sharp look. “How hard is it to remember to put releaser in the mold before you pour the silicone?”

Tina recoils, but before she can come up with a retort, Quinn snaps, “Right, like you didn’t drown Mike’s hair in product.”

“If Sam hadn’t been distracting us all with his James Earl Jones impressions—which by the way, that’s not even the right franchise—I would’ve been paying more attention.”

“I thought you guys loved my impressions,” Sam mumbles, and stares down at his hands sadly.

“I think they’re funny,” Mike offers sincerely. “Just...maybe not when I’m in hair and makeup.”

“Mr. Schue,” Kurt finally puts in, “if I may? The problem with this production isn’t Tina’s mistake or Sam’s impressions. It’s cohesion.”

“I had a cohesion once,” Brittany says quietly. “The doctor said it was just a chicken pox scar.”

Lauren glances over at her, shakes her head silently, and leans back in her chair.

“It means the way we work together as a team,” Kurt explains gently. “And that’s the thing. We don’t.”

“I bring the truth,” Santana says, shrugging. “Some people find that off-putting.”

“Be that as it may,” Kurt says, cutting her off before Lauren can call her a bitch and they can break out into yet another fight; from what Kurt gathers, Puck used to go out with Santana and now he goes out with Lauren. Kurt thinks he must be made of pretty strong stuff to hold his own against either one of them and were Kurt still the kind of man who worshipped divas, he would be forced to add both of them to his list just on principle alone.

“This production will never work if we don’t start to respect each other’s talent. And not only that, we all have to accept that we need to lean on each other sometimes for support. If we’d been working together instead of each taking care of the one thing we were responsible for and only that, one of us would’ve caught the thing with the releaser. We weren’t, so we barely got it out in time, it looked terrible, and now Matt has to sit through another face cast so we can make a new positive.”

“Or Tina could just do her job and the rest of us wouldn’t have to babysit her.”

“It was a mistake,” Kurt insists. “And you made one last night, too.”

“I told you, that was because of Sam. Now get out of my grill before I go Brooklyn on your scrawny ass.”

“Guys, enough,” Schuester cuts in. “Kurt is right. You all need to work together if we’re going to pull this off. Now I want you all to talk about ways you could’ve helped each other out while I’m at the Riker auditions.”

“Pick someone super hot,” Santana says wistfully. “It’ll piss Finn off more.”

Schuester opens his mouth to reply, then seems to think better of it and leaves them all sitting there in silence.

“I’m really sorry again, guys,” Tina says finally, and everyone turns to look at her.

“Stop apologizing,” Kurt tells her after a moment. “There’s no need. It was a mistake. I’ve forgotten it before, too. Let’s just...let’s get Matt into the chair and re-cast his face while Schuester’s off holding auditions.”

“Not so fast, sweet cheeks,” Lauren interrupts. “I need to work with Matt on his fight choreography. He’s still not holding the bat’leth right during fight scenes.”

“Well, you can work on it with him after the cast dries, while we make the positive,” Kurt counters. “We need to get this started because it takes awhile to set.”

Lauren gets her glasses halfway off her face before Puck catches her eye. They stare at each other in silence for a moment, like some kind of epic screaming match is going on that none of the rest of them are privy to, then she pushes her glasses back up into place and says, “Okay. Fine. I’ll work with Sam. He’s still half a step behind everyone and it throws off the realism.”

“Excellent,” Kurt says. “Ladies and Matt, to the dressing room.”

He waits until he’s sure Santana and Quinn are following him, then turns on his heel and leads the way to the dressing room, hanging back just enough for Mercedes to catch up to him and take his arm. She smiles at him, a little proud and a whole lot worried, and he gives her a tiny shrug of his shoulders. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s hoping for, either.

***


A few hours later, Kurt has allowed his team drag him down to the Riker auditions while the positive of Matt’s face sets up. He’s not sure why, exactly, he agreed to come watch, since it’s not like he’ll be working with whoever gets the part all that closely—standard stage make up is Quinn’s territory more than his—but Tina and Mike decided to go, and then Mercedes joined in, and then the three of him gave him Those Faces, the ones where he can’t say no to them, and the next thing he knew, he was in the audience a few rows behind Schuester and Figgins, watching actor after actor read the same hastily-written scene against Mr. Schue’s increasingly ironic line reading as Troi.

“How are they all so bad?” Mike asks quietly. “I didn’t think this was possible.”

“It’s like a train wreck extravaganza,” Mercedes mutters to herself as the latest horrible actor breaks out into the singing part of his audition.

“Guys, I’m gonna go check on the face cast,” Kurt whispers.

He moves to stand up, but Tina catches him around the shoulder and pleads, “Come on. Stay. The cast is fine. Have a little fun.”

“This isn’t fun. This is just...embarrassing.”

“It’s not that bad,” Mike offers. “And some of them are pretty cute. Right?”

Kurt glances back at the stage just as the newest actor walks on, script in one hand and guitar in the other.

“Hi,” he says, and adjusts his guitar strap into place. “I’m Blaine Anderson. I’m here to audition for the role of Will Riker.”

Beside him, Kurt can feel Mike and Tina’s eyes still on him as he slowly drops back down into his seat. He swallows roughly, then admits, “Right.”

He can see them grin at each other out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t really care. Because yeah, this guy is pretty cute. Pretty damn cute, actually.

Mercedes snickers beside him and Kurt gives a rather half-hearted, “Shut up,” before he forgets that he cares. Because suddenly the guy is singing, and his eyes are searching the audience for a focal point and they land on Kurt. And okay, the guy is singing right at Kurt and making truly ridiculous faces, Mike is reaching around Tina to nudge him good-naturedly in the ribs, and holy shit, cute doesn’t cover it anymore.

“Smile,” Mercedes whispers in his ear.

It takes a moment, but Kurt finally manages to school his face into something akin to a smile, and the gorgeous boy on stage grins just that little bit wider in response. He hears Tina make an excited squeaking noise beside him, and Mercedes mutter an impressed-sounding, “Damn,” but he can’t manage to look at either of them in admonition because he feels physically incapable of looking away.

At some point, though hell if Kurt knows when, the singing stops. Kurt is only alerted to this fact by Mike clapping enthusiastically on the other side of Tina, at which point Kurt joins in, possibly even louder than Mike, and the man on stage brushes it aside with a humble smile and wave of his hand.

“He’s good,” Mercedes murmurs while the man on stage sets the guitar down and retrieves his script.

“Yeah,” Kurt agrees without meaning to, because he loves these people, honestly, but giving them ammo is like asking for trouble.

He can feel Mercedes’ stare on him without even glancing at her, but he refuses to acknowledge it. He’s having a moment, damn it, and her smug self-satisfaction about how long it’s been since he liked a boy can wait.

The man is a good actor, too, at least compared to the other train wrecks that have crossed the stage before him, even up against Schuester’s incredibly dry, stoic reading of Deanna Troi’s lines. Kurt’s more than a little impressed and already rooting for him to get the part—damn the fact that he looks nothing like Jonathan Frakes and flat-out admitted that he can’t play trombone.

Kurt is aware that he has more than the play’s best interests at heart, though.

“Go,” Mercedes whispers as the guy walks off stage, and suddenly he’s being pushed by all three of his friends until he’s forced up onto his feet.

“Go where?” he asks.

“Go meet him by the exit,” Tina clarifies. “Ask him out.”

“What? No, I can’t—”

“You can and you should,” Mike insists. “He was totally checking you out.”

“No, he—”

Mercedes rolls her eyes and pushes him a few steps towards the aisle. “Boy, you get your ass out there and ask him out. Anyone with eyes could see the way he was looking at you.”

“I’m sure he was just performing...” Kurt trails off, because it sounds as weak as it did in his head.

“That boy is fine,” Mercedes says, ticking off a finger like she’s counting down a list. “He was singing right at you. In fact, he was acting right at you.”

“I’d say go offer to be the Troi to his Riker, but I don’t want to sound offensive,” Mike adds, and Kurt laughs at that because his friends are ridiculous.

“No, really guys—” he starts, but Mercedes nudges him again and it leaves him out in the middle of the aisle. “Fine,” he tells them. “I’m going to go check on the face cast like I planned to do anyway.”

“But—” Tina starts, and honestly, Kurt isn’t mad. He’s mostly amused, actually, and flattered that they care so much, but he is just the slightest bit annoyed that they can’t seem to take no for an answer.

So he leaves before that slightest bit can grow into anything more and makes his way back to hair and makeup. Which is how he finds himself alone in a room with the gorgeous boy who sang straight at him.

“Oh,” he says, just as the boy says, “Oh,” right back, and Kurt doesn’t know if he wants to ask the guy out or run away in embarrassment. He settles for leaning back against the door and asking, “What are you doing in here?”

“I got lost,” he answers. “I’ve never been here before.”

“I know,” Kurt answers before he can stop himself. “I saw you audition.”

The man smiles, just a little bashful, and answers, “Yeah. So...who do you play?”

“What? Oh, no. I’m not—I’m not in the cast. I’m the lead character designer.”

“Oh.” He sounds just a little disappointed.

“‘Oh?’ What’s that mean?” He takes a few steps away from the door, closer to the man, mostly because he can’t stop himself.

“You just seem like a performer, is all.”

“I used to be,” Kurt admits, and then, “Sorry. The exit is down the hall. Second door on the left.”

“Thanks.” He stands there for a moment, as though waiting for something else, then slips past Kurt out the door.

Before Kurt can stop himself, he calls out, “And good luck! You were the best one out there.”

The man pokes his head back in the door, beams at him, and says, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Kurt answers breathlessly. The man grins at him for a long moment, then ducks back out into the hallway. And then he’s gone.

***


“Honestly, it’s like you can’t stand yourself,” Mercedes mutters as they walk into work the next day. “You clearly just don’t want to be happy.”

“That’s not fair,” Kurt sighs. “You don’t just ask out some guy you don’t know because he smiled at you.”

She considers that for a moment as they set their things down at their stations, then shrugs. “Maybe. You think Rachel’s quit yet?”

Kurt tries not to snort. “No,” he answers, when he realizes that Mercedes isn’t joking. “She needs us.”

Mercedes scoffs. “As much as we need her?”

“If not more.”

“How do you know so much about her?” Tina asks. “I’ve never seen you say more than two words to Rachel.”

“Because she’s a diva,” Kurt answers and starts removing the cast of Matt’s face from its mold. “And because I used to be one.”

“Used to?” Mercedes jokes, but one glance at Tina tells him that she’s got more questions than he wants to give the answers to, so he asks her to start sculpting Worf’s Klingon forehead onto Matt’s facial cast, hoping she'll back off as a professional courtesy. She does, so he turns his attention to Quinn and Santana’s latest argument, and that is how he misses the fact that the hair and makeup team is no longer alone until he feels a tap on his shoulder and he spins around to find himself face to face with the guy from yesterday.

“Excuse me,” the guy says brightly, “Hi. Can I ask you a question? I’m new here.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow, but he can practically feel Mercedes’ eyes on him and he’s not going to give her the satisfaction of seeing him get flustered.

“My name is Kurt,” he says as calmly as he can, and holds out his hand.

The man’s hand is warm and strong in his and his smile is just this side of too bright when he answers, “Blaine.”

“What are you doing here?”

Mr. Schue enters and answers before Blaine can. “Blaine is our new Riker.”

Beside him, Santana lets out a derisive snort. “You have got to be kidding me. He looks nothing like Riker. This isn’t The Hobbit: the Musical, this is Star Trek.”

“Well, that’s why I brought him here first. Kurt, do you think you can work your magic?”

Kurt eyes Blaine idly and shrugs. “I’ll try, but...I can’t make any promises, Mr. Schue. This is—.”

“It’s kind of a big leap,” Blaine supplies for him.

“The eyebrows alone...” Santana mutters.

“I’m sure I can work something out,” Kurt says more confidently, and shoots Santana a scathing look. She returns it, with interest, and rolls her eyes at him.

“That’s the spirit, Kurt,” Schue says, and thumps him on the back before leaving the same way as he came.

“So...” Blaine says after a moment, “should I sit down?”

“What? Oh. Yes.” Kurt gestures vaguely to his makeup station and follows Blaine when he sits down at it. He can feel several of his co-worker’s eyes on him and he shoots Mercedes a glare (mostly because he knows she won’t try to stab him with the pointy end of a hairbrush unlike certain members of his hair team who shall remain nameless mostly because he is afraid of them) before he kneels before Blaine to scrutinize his features.

“This feels oddly clinical,” Blaine says after a moment.

“It is,” Kurt answers back idly.

“True.”

“I’d say I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable, but trust me, this is the least uncomfortable ten minutes you will ever spend in this chair.”

“Oh?”

“Beauty can be painful. Even more so when I’m trying to make you someone else’s version of beauty.”

“You really think you can make me look like Jonathan Frakes?”

“No, but I can make you passable. Finn hardly looks like Wesley Crusher, but we made that work.”

Blaine nods. “What exactly...are you looking at?”

“Your bone structure. I’m working up the nerve to focus on your eyebrows. That’s not something you just dive into.”

Blaine snorts. “You’re going to wax them, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I’d say I’m sorry, but this kind of stuff is like crack to me.”

“It’s okay,” Blaine says, shrugging. “Would you judge me if I said this much attention was kind of flattering?”

“I would,” Kurt answers agreeably, “but I’d feel the same way if the situation were reversed, so...”

Blaine laughs softly and meets Kurt’s eyes. “I don’t know what you’re going to do with my hair. Riker’s hair wasn’t curly.”

“Straightener,” Kurt says thoughtfully. “You’ll need a beard, too, so we’ll have to do a facial hair piece.”

“I can grow one, you know.”

“Not in time for the next show. Don’t worry. Tina’s great at facial hair.”

“And what are you great at?”

Kurt very nearly answers, Wouldn’t you like to know? but decides it is too unprofessional, even for a boy this cute.

“Making people who I want them to be. It’s kind of my job.”

Blaine nods. After a moment, when Kurt realizes that Blaine isn’t going to say anything else, he motions Tina over and asks her if she’ll help him start Blaine’s facial cast.

Watching Blaine’s face disappear beneath the cast seems stranger than it ever has with anyone else—Blaine watches him until he absolutely has to close his eyes, and even then it feels as though he’s still, somehow, staring into Kurt’s eyes.

***


“That was definitely more uncomfortable than when you were just staring at me,” Blaine says amicably when Kurt is finally finished with removing the plaster from his face. He scratches at his jawline idly and blinks up at Kurt in a way that is far too adorable for Kurt to handle at three thirty in the afternoon.

“I told you,” he says after a moment, and then hesitates, warm washcloth in his hand. Usually, he cleans the cast member’s faces off for them after putting them through that ordeal, but it somehow seems too forward to do that to Blaine. After a moment, he holds the cloth out for Blaine to take, and turns his back to him on the pretense of checking the inside of the mold.

“I liked the music you had on while I was in there,” Blaine says after a moment. “Did you pick it?”

“Yeah. Just one of my old playlists.”

“You have good taste,” Blaine murmurs.

“Thanks.”

He can feel Blaine’s eyes on him (not to mention half his team’s eyes on the pair of them, as well), so Kurt finally gives in and turns back to face him.

“Hi,” Blaine says, grinning brightly. “Apparently Jedi mind tricks really do work.”

“Wrong franchise,” Kurt echoes. Then, “So what’d you want me to turn around for?”

“I wanted to ask you if you like karaoke.”

“If I—what?”

“Karaoke,” Blaine repeats. “You have great taste in music and the other day, you said that you used to be a performer. I thought it might be fun to—”

“I don’t really sing in public anymore,” Kurt cuts him off. “It’s been awhile. My vocal chords are probably out of shape.”

“That’s the beauty of karaoke,” Blaine presses on, just as cheerfully. “Finely honed skill isn’t required. In fact, those who have it need not apply.”

“I don’t know,” Kurt says on an exhale. “Karaoke is—”

“Karaoke?” Mercedes asks from behind him, and Kurt loves her, but he needs her to stop talking right now. “Who’s talking about karaoke?”

“I am,” Blaine says, and then holds out his hand to her. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Mercedes.” She smiles at him, bright and cheerful and just a little fierce, and shakes his hand. “Now what were you saying?”

“I was asking Kurt if he’d like to go to a karaoke bar and he was saying that he doesn’t sing in public anymore.”

“He doesn’t,” Mercedes agrees. “But that sounds like so much fun. We should all go.”

“Oh,” Blaine says, then more brightly, “yeah. I’d like that.”

“It’ll be a fun way for you to get to know all of us,” Mercedes adds, “since we’ve all known each other for months now and you’re new.”

“Yeah,” Blaine says, a little more sure this time, “that could be awesome.”

“No better way to get to know someone than to watch them get drunk and make an ass out of themselves on a stage,” Tina agrees as she passes by on her way to the supply cabinet.

“Awesome.” Mercedes beams at him. “Kurt, give him your number so he can text us the address. Tonight okay with you?” She addresses the question to Blaine without even looking over at Kurt. If she did, she might back down (although with Mercedes, who knows; sometimes she’s a fan of the “sink or swim” method of tough love) but she’s not paying attention so she doesn’t see the awkward, uncomfortable look he’s sending her.

When he realizes that Blaine is holding out his phone expectantly, Kurt takes it, types in his phone number, and adds it to Blaine’s address book. When he hands it back, Blaine glances down, presses a button, and then holds the phone up a few feet from Kurt’s face. The back of it flashes brightly and a soft click noise cuts through the silence between them. Blaine holds the phone up again, this time with the screen facing Kurt, to show him the grainy photo he just took. He beams at Kurt, then presses another button, and explains, “Needed a photo to assign to the contact. Don’t give me that face, you look great. Well, no one looks great in a cell phone photo, but you look better than most people do.”

“Oh,” Kurt says, flushing, and only barely resists the urge to turn away again. “Thank you.”

Blaine glances back down at his phone and Mercedes uses the moment to nudge Kurt in the ribs and grin at him. Kurt shoots a warning look at her, and hurries off to talk eyebrow re-shaping with Quinn. It is going to be quite a feat, after all.

***


Somehow, word travels through the cast and crew and by the time Kurt and Mercedes arrive at the address Blaine texted them, pretty much everyone is there. Tina and Mike are already on stage, in fact, and she’s positively killing a Joan Jett number while Mike alternates between deeply impressive dance moves and deeply ridiculous air guitar.

“You made it!” Blaine says brightly, and grabs Kurt’s hand to tug him over to the cluster of tables the cast and crew have taken for themselves. Kurt waves at Sam and Brittany as he’s dragged into a seat next to Rachel, not even allowing himself to think about how willingly he’s letting himself be carried along in Blaine’s wake. He gives Finn an awkward smile as Blaine all but deposits him into the chair before taking the seat next to him, leaving Mercedes to take the seat on Blaine’s other side, next to Finn.

“You’re late,” Rachel says without any malice.

Yes, actually, he is, because he spent about two hours going through his closet trying to figure out what to wear. It would’ve helped if he’d known what kind of occasion this was, or if Mercedes would’ve stopped lounging on his bed and making teasing (but loving) jokes at his expense.

“I’m surprised you’re here at all,” Kurt answers back.

“Truthfully, I hadn’t planned on getting to know this new intruder to our happy family—”

Kurt blinks at just how much menace she manages to put into such a seemingly innocuous term as “happy family,” but then again, this is Rachel Berry and he probably shouldn’t be surprised.

“—but I have made it a rule to never pass up a chance to sing. You never know who might be in the audience. Plenty of performers were discovered while performing in dive bars. I would hate to miss out on my chance to move on to bigger and better things because I let someone else’s intrusion get to me.”

“This isn’t a dive,” Kurt says, and wonders why Blaine chose this table to sit at when it’s obviously the most hostile. He knows for a fact that Sam and Brittany’s table would be a lot more welcoming, although admittedly a little stranger.

Rachel scoffs and Finn gives him a sad little shrug that makes Kurt roll his eyes and turn his attention away from the both of them.

“So what are you going to sing?” Blaine asks as Tina belts out the final note of her song. “It’s eighties night.”

“I’m not singing,” Kurt says in the most nonchalant voice he has. “Especially not on eighties night.”

“Oh, come on. The eighties weren’t that bad.”

“Have you seen the way they dressed back then? No. I have my dignity.”

Blaine snickers. “Oh, come on. I bet you could totally rock a power ballad if you wanted to.”

“I’ll leave that to the professionals,” Kurt mumbles.

“You’re no fun,” Blaine tells him. “Come on, I’ll show you how easy it is.”

Kurt shakes his head. “You want to get up there and make an ass out of yourself, go for it.”

Blaine shrugs and lets go of Kurt’s hand—Kurt’s a little shocked to realize he hadn’t yet—and stands.

“Anyone wanna join me?” Blaine asks the group. “I’m thinking it’s time we slow this down a little. ‘Every Rose Has Its Thorn,’ maybe?”

“Oh, dude, that’s my jam,” Sam exclaims, and Blaine beams at him.

“Come on, then,” he says, and slings an arm companionably around Sam’s shoulders as they make their way to the stage.

Mercedes scoots over into the chair Blaine vacated and leans in to whisper, “What’s wrong?”

Kurt shrugs and picks at his fingernail, trying not to look up at the stage where Blaine and Sam are huddled together and whispering to each other as the first strains of Poison fill the room.

“Nothing.”

“I thought you were interested in him.”

“I—” Kurt stops. “He’s a very attractive guy,” he says instead, and glances at her out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t look at me like that, Mercedes. You know I don’t sing anymore.”

“For a very stupid reason.”

“It’s not stupid. Wasting my time going on two hundred and thirty-two auditions was stupid.”

“Fine, no one will hire you,” Mercedes acquiesces. “This isn’t for a job, though. This is for fun. You know you sound amazing so get out there and belt out some—” She stops.

“Exactly.” Kurt shrugs. “My voice doesn’t exactly go with eighties hair metal, even if I were willing.”

“There’s always Madonna,” Mercedes says thoughtfully. Then, more excited, “Ooh! Or Prince. Kurt, you would do a killer Prince.”

“Well...”

“Maybe ‘If I Was Your Girlfriend?’ Or...ooh, no, Kurt,” she giggles so hard he barely hears the name of her next suggestion, and when he realizes what it was, he wishes he hadn’t.

“Are you—Mercedes,” he hisses, “I am not singing ‘Head’ to a guy I just met, who I don’t even know is gay, and who I work with.”

“He’s into you,” she says, dismissively, “though I will give you the last one. Maybe something less...”

“Pornographic?”

“Yeah. Maybe something less filthy the first time he hears you. You can save that one for when it’s a one-on-one performance.”

Kurt flushes and flicks his eyes back to the stage just in time for Blaine to meet them, grinning despite the melancholy of the song he’s singing. His voice blends with Sam’s beautifully and Kurt’s a little sad that they won’t have a song together in the show—the audience would be in for a treat if they did.

“He’s good,” he says quietly.

“He’s singing right to you,” Mercedes counters. “Again. Seriously, Kurt, do you not see the way he is with you?”

“He’s being friendly.”

She sighs. “I give up. Be miserable.”

Kurt wants to bite back, “I intend to,” but he’s watching it on the bitchiness lately. He’s not doing a perfect job at it by far, but he’s trying.

Kurt ignores her through the rest of the song, and avoids eye contact with Blaine. He’s tired of having this argument and he’s just as tired of the whole dating...thing. It doesn’t tend to end well for him.

“There,” Blaine says when he finally drops back down into the seat next to Kurt. “See? Easy. Your turn.”

“Actually,” Rachel huffs, “it’s mine and Finn’s turn. Watch and learn.”

She tugs a confused-looking Finn up out of his chair and pulls him towards the stage.

“Well, she’s cheerful,” Blaine says dryly. “I can’t wait to practice the kissing scene.”

“She’s just...scared of failure,” Kurt says, shrugging. “You were good up there. Just now.”

“Thanks. So, picked your song yet?”

“I’m really not going up there,” Kurt sighs. “I just. I can’t.”

Blaine frowns. “Okay. I—” He ducks his head and chuckles under his breath at himself. “This is a disaster, isn’t it?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Kurt shrugs. “Everyone sounds great. It’s nice to see some of these guys get to share the spotlight for once. I didn’t even know Tina could sing.”

“She sounded amazing,” Blaine agrees. “But I meant—”

Kurt glances up and meets Blaine’s eyes, and Blaine stops.

“Hmm?” Kurt prompts after a moment of silence.

“Nothing,” Blaine says dazedly.

Kurt flushes and looks away.

“Mercedes,” he says as Finn and Rachel finish their number, “why don’t you go show them how it’s done?”

She looks torn between performing and eavesdropping on their conversation, but Kurt knows her well enough to know which one will eventually win out. After a moment, she scoffs and launches herself up out of her seat to take command of the stage.

“I hope you took notes,” Rachel says. “With Finn’s superior vocals, you’re going to have a lot to live up to if you hope to keep up with me.”

Kurt restrains himself from snorting, but only barely, and that’s the way it goes for the rest of the night: his friends get up on the stage and shine brighter than he’s ever seen them before, and he sits there torn between the warmth of Blaine on one side, and Rachel passive-aggressively insulting everyone who dares try to outshine her on the other.

Around midnight, people start saying their goodbyes, until finally Mercedes tiredly admits that she’d like to head home, too.

“Which direction are you headed in?” Blaine asks when Kurt stands to join her. His face is open and eager and it makes Kurt’s stomach swoop just a little.

“Oh, uh, that way,” Kurt says, and waves vaguely. It’s really not much of an answer.

“Cool,” Blaine says, and doesn’t even look to see which direction Kurt gestured at. “That’s on my way. I’ll walk with you.”

“Okay.”

And Kurt will give Mercedes one thing: she manages to keep several feet of distance between herself and them the entire way back to their building without looking like it’s on purpose at all. She’s good when she needs to be.

“This is us,” Kurt says, and stops a few feet from the door. Mercedes hesitates, glances between the two of them, and then slips inside without a word.

“Thank you for coming out tonight,” Blaine says. “Even if it was...co-opted by the entire cast and crew, and you have the whole...issue with singing in public, I had a nice time.”

“Me, too,” Kurt answers agreeably. “Thanks for inviting us.”

Blaine hesitates, then takes Kurt’s hand in his. “Would you maybe want to do it again sometime? Not...not this, but...something?”

Kurt raises an eyebrow and stares down at his hand. “I—uh. Sure?”

Blaine beams at him, and opens his other arm like he’s going to try to hug Kurt. Then he seems to think better of it and covers Kurt’s hand with his free one, so that Kurt’s hand is ensconced in both of his. He shakes it very firmly, and grins even wider, and then finally lets Kurt go and steps back.

“Good night, Kurt,” he says, and gives an awkward little wave.

“Good night,” Kurt returns, and turns to open the door of his building. Just before he steps inside, he sees Blaine take a few steps and then actually do a little jump into the air, one fist raised. He blinks, then shrugs, and heads for the stairway.

***


“Son of a bitch!” Blaine shouts two days later, one hand flying up to his face and the other gripped tight on the arm of his chair. “Jesus—fuck. Ow. Okay. Ow. I was not expecting—”

“I just ripped half your eyebrow out of its roots,” Kurt says, as calmly as he can manage. “Did you think it would feel like being licked by kittens?”

“No,” Blaine says petulantly, and rubs at his right eyebrow. “I just. Christ.

“If you had less hair to start with, it wouldn’t be this painful,” Kurt tells him, and bends down to Blaine’s eye level to carefully apply wax to the other side.

“This is torture,” Blaine tells him. “You’re a sadist. You should have like...whips and chains and black latex suits in here. This isn’t a hair and make up room, it’s a dungeon.”

“As good as I’d look in that outfit,” Kurt says, as airily as possible, “it’s really not my bag. That’s pain for the sake of pain. This is pain for the sake of beauty.”

“So I wasn’t beautiful before?”

Kurt blushes. “That’s...that’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” Blaine answers softly. “So, uh...about the other night.”

“What about it?” Kurt carefully spreads the strip over the wax, smoothing it out firmly before leaning back to admire his handiwork.

“I—well, I mean...we haven’t made plans yet to do it again. So...I’d like to.”

“Okay. What kind of plans?”

“I don’t know...coffee?” Blaine suggests. “Or we could see a movie.”

“Coffee sounds nice. Exactly how many of our coworkers will be tagging along this time?”

“Oh, uh. None, I hope. Just—just me and you.”

“I—oh,” Kurt says, and pulls the strip off of Blaine’s eyebrow.

When the inevitable cursing and groaning have quieted down, Kurt turns Blaine’s chair to face the mirror and bends down until he can see his own face over Blaine’s shoulder.

“I’d like that,” he says quietly. “The—the coffee. Just the two of us.”

Blaine meets his eyes in the mirror and grins.

“Yeah?”

“Sure.”

“Then I forgive you for torturing me,” Blaine says seriously. “And for enjoying it.”

“And I forgive you for forcing me to sit next to Rachel Berry all night and act as a buffer between the two of you.”

“I’m kind of afraid of her,” Blaine says without a hint of shame.

Kurt nods. “How do you feel about a haircut?”

“I don’t particularly want one,” Blaine admits, “but do your worst. I think I can trust you. And nice segue, by the way. The logic and reasoning behind it was astounding.”

“Shut up or I’ll give you a mohawk.”

“Puck would kill you for stealing his look,” Blaine mumbles, but leans back in the chair with his eyes closed in acquiescence.

Kurt sprays Blaine’s hair down with water, running his fingers through it to pull the thick curls into straight locks before carefully raising his scissors and snipping the hair down into Riker’s shorter cut.

Blaine sighs when he hears the soft snick of the scissors, but arches up into Kurt’s hands the next time Kurt runs them over his scalp.

“So...are you ever going to tell me the story behind the not singing thing?”

“What, now?”

“I’m going to be here for awhile,” Blaine says evenly, “and it’s the least you can do after ripping hair off my face.”

“I thought you’d forgiven me for that.”

“I have, but I haven’t forgotten.”

Kurt sighs. “There’s not much to tell. I used to and now I don’t.”

“Why not?”

Kurt stops snipping away at Blaine’s hair and glances at him in the mirror, meeting his eyes briefly before he glances away and resumes the haircut.

“When I was in high school, I was kind of—I mean, I wasn’t popular at school or anything. Pretty much the opposite, actually. Thrown into lockers, called names—you know, the usual when you’re a gay guy who can’t pass and doesn’t particularly want to, anyway. But Columbus had a decent community theatre scene, or decent enough in Ohio, anyway, and I was kind of. You know, the star. It was the only place I ever felt...normal. I hate to use that word, but—”

“No, I know what you mean. I was like that in high school, too,” Blaine admits after a moment. “Performing is where I feel...comfortable in my own skin. That’s it, right? That’s what you meant?”

Kurt nods. “So, naturally of course, I assumed that the stuff that made me so good there would make me good here, too. Particularly my voice.”

“Oh?”

“Countertenor,” Kurt explains, and shrugs. “So I came here. Started auditioning. Assumed that, you know, I’d get rejected a lot, but eventually, someone would see the same stuff in me that the people in my community theatre group saw.”

“But they didn’t?”

Kurt shakes his head. “I kept getting rejected so finally I asked one of the casting directors if he had any tips. You know, stuff I could work on. He said—he said I was ‘too gay.’ Except he didn’t use that word. So I got kind of angry and pointed out that this was Broadway and he kind of laughed at me and told me that my voice was too high for any parts written for men.”

“And you just...gave up after that?”

“No. I went on about ten more auditions. I kept asking the question. Some of them were nicer about it—one just said I was ‘too niche’ for the part but he’d keep me in mind if anything came up he thought I’d be good for. And then one day, I was sitting outside a theatre, waiting for Mercedes to meet me so we could head back home together, and it just...hit me. I’m not an everyman. I’m a type. A type that’s not used too often in theatre. And I could keep waiting for that one part to swing around, and audition for it against all the other guys who were also the type, and hope that they picked me out of the crowd, or I could just...move on with my life. Find a new way to feel that.” He cards his fingers through Blaine’s hair and shrugs. “I’m good at this. I enjoy it, actually. Makeovers always were like crack to me, and this is kind of...that on speed. And there wasn’t much point to trying to force something that wasn’t ever going to happen.”

“But you enjoyed it, though,” Blaine says earnestly. “You loved it?”

“Yeah. I did.”

“Then why not sing for fun? At the karaoke bar? Or—or even just in the shower?”

“It just—I don’t know. It was too difficult, I guess. To let go. To stop dreaming. I needed to quit cold turkey.”

“Okay, but what about now?”

“Now, it’s just...sad. It just reminds me of what I’m missing. And in public? I know they’re all thinking what those casting directors were. That I sing like a girl, that I’m ‘too fa—’”

He stops and swallows. “I refused to let them win all through high school. I’m allowed to back down this time.”

Blaine sighs, sad, but nods. “Trust me, I—I know about backing down. I’m not—I don’t judge you for it. I’m guilty of it. I just—if it’s something you love...I’m not saying you should have to go through that. Just...it makes me want to fight for you.”

Kurt stays quiet for a moment, the room silent save for his rhythmic snipping.

“I don’t know if that’s sweet or patronizing,” he says finally. “And since I don’t really know you that well, I’m not sure if I should be giving you the benefit of the doubt or not.”

“I promise I didn’t mean it that way,” Blaine answers. “I just meant...you wouldn’t have given up if the fight wasn’t awful. And I don’t want you to have to go back to that. But I want to hear you sing, so...”

“So you want to be the brave, gallant knight who swoops in to fight my battles for me?”

“No,” Blaine says, abashed, and then after a moment, “Okay, yes. A little. I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you,” Kurt promises, “but I just—I can’t sing anymore. In public, I know they’re all judging me and doing it alone...it just hurts too much.”

“Okay,” Blaine says evenly, then: “But for the record, if you ever want an audience who’ll think you’re pretty much perfect...I would love to hear you sing.”

Kurt flushes. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” he mutters.

“You sure about that?” Blaine asks, and that’s pretty much the moment Kurt stops trying to convince himself that Blaine is straight, or that the invitation to karaoke and now coffee were anything except dates.

“I was...” Kurt says, letting it trail off at the end.

Blaine beams at him in the mirror, until Kurt nudges his shoulder and pushes the chair sideways, out of the mirror’s eye line.

“Go see Quinn. Let her do your make up. Schuester wants you stage-ready for dress rehearsal at two.”

“Smooth, Kurt Hummel. You’re very smooth.”

“Subtle, Blaine Anderson,” Kurt retorts. “You’re very subtle.”

Blaine chuckles, but pushes himself up out of the chair anyway. “That’s one thing I’ve never been called before in my life.”

“Me, either,” Kurt admits, and Blaine grins at him before Quinn rolls her eyes and grips him by the elbow, tugging him over to her station.

***


“I feel like we should pray,” Mercedes mutters, staring up at the stage from their vantage point halfway back through the orchestra.

“I doubt even Jesus could save this after that last workshop,” Tina groans.

“Don’t say that,” Quinn hisses. “Jesus can do anything. That’s the point of Him.” She pauses, then adds, “But yeah, we’re going to need divine intervention here.”

“I am more than happy to threaten every single one of them if they don’t pull this off,” Santana offers idly. “Especially Berry. Okay, I’m mostly just looking for an excuse. Give it to me.”

“Guys, come on,” Kurt says without any real conviction. “Artie re-wrote a lot of the stuff that didn’t work. And now we have a Riker, so—”

Mercedes snickers.

“Hush,” Kurt warns.

“He talked about you, you know. During his wardrobe fitting. He could barely shut up. And he mentioned something about coffee?”

Kurt flushes, then murmurs, “We...may or may not have a date. But you are not getting any details, Mercedes. At least not until details actually exist.”

“Oh, boo,” she says, and pulls him into a hug, made awkward by the armrest between their seats.

She looks like she wants to say something else, but the lights go down then and they fall silent as the show begins.

It’s at least twice as good as the last disastrous attempt. “Make It So,” sounds better now that Blaine is there to round out the male voices and Rachel must’ve been working with Finn non-stop because his solo in “Bye, Bye Enterprise,” is almost entirely on-key and actually sort of heartbreaking.

Kurt tries to look away when he senses it’s time for Riker and Troi to kiss, except that it’s at the end of their duet, “Imzadi, Imza-dah,” and he doesn’t get to turn his head away fast enough. It’s not as awkward to watch as he was expecting though, or at least it isn’t until Mercedes nudges him in the ribs and points up at the stage to Blaine and then back to Kurt as if to say, Boy, you are in for a treat.

Then it’s over and the entire cast is raising their voices in a reprise of “Make It So,” and Tina is sagging in her seat with relief.

“That was so much better, you guys.”

“It wasn’t horrible,” Santana agrees, which for her might as well be a five-star review.

“No one accidentally punched someone in the face,” Lauren concedes, and crosses her arms across her chest in a self-satisfied way.

The cast starts hopping down into the orchestra and suddenly Kurt’s being tugged forward as both cast and crew rush towards each other in a crush of celebration. He can hear Figgins shouting over the din that this isn’t the end, they still have a workshop performance on Saturday and investors will be there so they need to be on their game, but Kurt doesn’t care because he’s caught up in one of Rachel’s rare, but utterly genuine and fierce, hugs.

“You were great,” he tells her, and she gives him a look that’s more or less unfathomable before she turns him loose to go running up the aisle towards Santana and Lauren, where she manages to get one arm around each of them before they twist out of her grip.

“Well?” Blaine says breathlessly, “How was it?”

“Very nice. Couldn’t see a trace of fear on your face in your scenes with Rachel.”

“Yes, well, I am a professional,” Blaine says with false seriousness. “So how’d I look?”

“Great. Really...very nice. Remind me to thank Mercedes for the cut of this uniform.”

“I meant did I look enough like Riker,” Blaine says, and nudges Kurts shoulder gently. “But thank you.”

Kurt opens his mouth to try to fix the awkward, but Finn chooses that moment to sling one arm around each of them.

“You were good, Blaine. Try to watch that kiss, though. That’s my girlfriend, all right?”

“I promise that you have nothing to worry about,” Blaine answers. The corners of his mouth twitch up into a smile before he smooths them back out.

If Finn gets it, he doesn’t show it, because all he does is nod, thump Blaine on the back just a little too heartily for a friendly gesture, and head over to Sam, where he engages in what Kurt can only describe as a ritualistic chest bump. There’s a whole procedure to it, with hands and gestures and forearms that leads up to the actual bump. It seems complicated and Kurt’s not sure how Finn manages to remember something that confusing but can’t remember his monologue in act two.

“So...I was thinking,” Blaine says, “that tonight would be good for coffee. What do you think?”

Kurt nods and the two of them slip unnoticed to hair and make up so that Blaine can change out of Riker’s uniform.




1 | 2 | Optional Author's Notes | Fanmix by queenofgoat
 
 
 
fara1903fara1903 on August 31st, 2011 04:18 pm (UTC)
This is very interesting! Can't wait for their coffee date!
Buffay the Vampyre Layer: GLEE | Kurt/Blaine | Adoration.guest_age on August 31st, 2011 04:22 pm (UTC)
Thank you!
webehwebeh on September 1st, 2011 01:31 am (UTC)
Finn is fine as the male lead and he’s turned Wesley Crusher into a...fascinating character.

I just about died here.

Also, how is it the writers thought to include Wesley Crusher, but not Riker? Riker is Picard's number two. LOL.

As for the fake beard, Riker had no beard at the beginning I believe. But, I guess that wouldn't have been very recognizable for the general public. :)
Buffay the Vampyre Layer: STAR TREK | TOS | Kirk/Spock/Bones = BFFguest_age on September 1st, 2011 01:34 am (UTC)
In my head, the original plan was for a mixture of the TOS and TNG casts, so it's entirely possible it could've been something like Picard as Captain and Spock as First Officer.

Personally, I preferred beardless!Riker, but since they're trying to make the musical appeal to a general audience, best to go with the beard since that's the iconic image.

Plus, I just think Artie (the author) is like, that one guy who actually like Wesley Crusher and therefore had to have him in the play. No one understands why, but they just go with it.
webehwebeh on September 1st, 2011 02:39 am (UTC)
Wait. Is there no Captain Picard? I might have missed that detail in my reading.
Buffay the Vampyre Layer: GLEE | Dalton | Warblers FTW!guest_age on September 1st, 2011 02:45 am (UTC)
There's a Picard, but there wasn't originally a Riker because the idea was to mix TOS and TNG. Then they added Riker when they brought Blaine in.

I have no idea who played Picard, though. There were some characters in this who I couldn't think of a character they'd fit well, so I just mentioned that they were in the cast without detailing what part they'd play. Although I'm fairly sure Sam was Data, if only because he does impressions and Brent Spiner is the master of character. But there were a lot that I just mentioned as being part of the cast without knowing who played them. (No idea who Brittany played, unless it was Mama Crusher, but even then, that's not set in stone in my head. She could've just been a backup dancer.)
emilianadarlingemilianadarling on September 3rd, 2011 08:51 am (UTC)
Okay, I am seriously IN LOVE WITH THIS FIC so hard already, I'm not even finished reading Ch1 yet and I had to scroll down to start my comment. I was scared of forgetting things I loved!!

-- Well, first of all, your writing is gorgeous. You have a wonderful way with the characters in this AU, my darling; I can so clearly hear everyone when you write for them. From Rachel's diva screech to Santana and Lauren's snark, to Kurt's thin professionalism and Blaine's upbeat clean-cut-ness. And the way you describe the manic nature of behind-scenes in a theatre? SO compelling. You have such a way with words, and I'm so invested in this story already!

-- OMG Star Trek the Musical I LOVE IT. I love all the little nods, and the prosthetics, and the hair, and the casting choices and the songs and trying to make Blaine look like Riker. I LOVE IT.

-- You truly handle the environment so, so well here. This is an AU that I believe 100% right from the get-go. The whole environment feels so real to me already.

-- I can't wait to hear more about Kurt's background, and about how he went from being a diva to not wanting to sing in public. SO interesting. And I LOVED Blaine's genuine interest in him, and hearing him sing, and the way you described his staring in the makeup chair. Nnnngh, outstanding. (Although I think when Mercedes came up, even though it ended with Kurt's number in Blaine's phone, at first Blaine was going "cockblocked :(" a little bit at first. AND IT WAS ADORABLE.)

Okay, going to read the rest of this chapter now.

-- Ugh, Rachel. Uggggggggggh you have her voice down so well in the Karaoke bar. X_X

-- He knows for a fact that Sam and Brittany’s table would be a lot more welcoming, although admittedly a little stranger. <---- <3 <3 <3

-- I am falling over myself over how very, very into Kurt Blaine is in this. The staring into his eyes at Karaoke, the not caring where he's walking in order to walk him home. GUH I LOVE YOU AND THIS SO MUCH. And oh, my gosh, the little dance he does after coffee. AHHH I AM DEAD.

-- Oh, Kurt. :( His backstory makes me sadface in such a huge way because it's so very true to life. Backing down, being told you can't do something, realizing you're a difficult fit in theatre. How very real and how very, very heartbreaking. :( No wonder singing in public is so painful; Kurt is so not the kind of person to easily give up, it must have destroyed him.

-- "Make It So" OMG "Bye Bye Enterprise" I CANNOT EVEN

-- I am currently imagining Blaine as Riker and it is amazing.

In conclusion: BLESS YOU. BLESS YOUR FAMILY. BLESS YOUR COW. This is AWESOME and amazing and I'm LOVING IT! Off to read the next part!
Buffay the Vampyre Layer: GLEE | Kurt/Blaine | No regrets; just <3guest_age on September 3rd, 2011 02:35 pm (UTC)
Oh, wow. Thank you so, so much for this comment! This was the best thing ever to wake up to. Particularly your comment about the ensemble's voices because I was nervous about those. Thank you!
(Deleted comment)
Buffay the Vampyre Layer: GLEE | Brittany/Santana | I love you.guest_age on September 4th, 2011 12:37 pm (UTC)
Aw, thanks!