Fic: Only Sweet Things Turn To Dust (1/3)
Title: Only Sweet Things Turn To Dust
Fandom: Glee
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Kurt Hummel, Dave Karofsky
Pairing: Kurtofsky, slight Klaine.
Word Count: 2,035
Warning: Alcohol abuse
Story Summary: AU. We truly were a lost generation. Kurt Hummel and Dave Karofsky, from 1918 to 1942.
Disclaimer: Glee and anything else you may recognize belong to their rightful owners. Title based on a F. Scott Fitzgerald quote.
New Jersey, 1918
Kurt Hummel made the acquaintance of one David Karofsky during his second year of college. The burlier man was introduced to him through his step-brother Finn, as a fellow veteran, recently returned from France. Kurt nodded and hummed appreciatively in all the rights places as Finn babbled and Mr. Karofsky stared stubbornly at his shined boots.
Kurt gazed unseeingly at the champagne coupe in his hand, before looking up to see Mr. Karofsky staring at him with intense eyes. He looked down quickly and Kurt raised an eyebrow. Finn carried on. Kurt looked around at the room before catching a glimpse of a stylish dark blue evening gown and blond hair. Quickly excusing himself, and switching his empty glass with a full one from the waiter’s tray without missing a beat, he drew up behind the young woman.
“Have I told you that you look positively ravishing this evening, Miss Fabray?” He whispered in her ear whilst taking a sip of champagne. She threw her head back and laughed, turning around to face him.
“What do you want, Kurt?” She asked sweetly.
“Interesting company and riveting conversation, what else can a man possibly desire?” He replied.
“I can think of a few things.” Quinn drawled.
“Hush you.” She responded with her characteristic breathy laugh before pulling him closer the share the evening’s gossip.
~
Kurt Hummel wasn’t born wealthy like most of his classmates. His father bred cattle in Ohio and it was a comfortable living but one that demanded hard work and didn’t allow too many luxuries. His mother had passed away when he was eight, leaving him to take care of the house along with an old housekeeper, Mrs. Bletheim, a bitter creature completely disinterested in any form of art.
He excelled in his studies and the money his father had carefully saved up throughout his life was used to send him off to Princeton, filling the newly-married Burt Hummel with pride.
Things like the butterflies in his stomach when he caught sight of his soon-to-be stepbrother were carefully ignored, stomped on, pushed to a dark corner of his mind and soon disappeared completely.
In Princeton, Kurt perfected his defense mechanism. Instead of subservience towards the peers that considered themselves his superiors, he responded to their digs with a steely gaze, an arrogant sneer and a remark that left the others feeling distinctively inadequate.
He studied, wrote like man possessed and allowed himself few distractions. One of them was Quinn Fabray, the beautiful blonde from Boston, studying in the conservatory against the wishes of her parents. The other was Blaine Anderson.
~
Unlike him, Blaine Anderson had been born to money and high society, and all that it entailed. None of the classmates looked down on him because he was meant to be there. At first, he had nothing but Kurt’s disdain and disinterest, but the obliviousness and good intentions eventually win him over.
He was like him. He never realized there were others like him. Blaine had. He told him of a boy named Jeremiah, with clear eyes and blond hair and who kissed him when they were young, before going to war and dying there.
Blaine Anderson was deeply unhappy, he realized one day. He wanted to be free, wanted it desperately, but he was too scared to do anything about it. He was too scared of losing people’s approval, whether it be his family or the people on the street. Kurt pitied him. He’d given up on caring what people thought a long time.
Of course, they ended up in each other’s rooms, more often than not, drunk and desperate.
“Hey, can we talk?” Blaine asked from his place, lying on Kurt’s bed.
“You’re not going to ask me to make an honest woman out of you, are you?” He asked, being careful not to nick the skin with the blade.
“We have to end this.” Blaine took a deep breath and avoided Kurt’s eyes, who had turned back to look at him. “I met someone.”
“Alright.” Kurt nodded and went back to shaving, even if the grip on the blade was tighter than before.
“Alright? You’re not upset?” Blaine asked carefully as he quickly dressed himself.
“Why would I be?” He asked back without looking at him.
Blaine shrugged on the waistcoat and grabbed his jacket. Walking closer to Kurt, he placed a hand on his shoulder and turned him to face him. Kurt rolled his eyes.
“You know, you’re going to get shaving cream all-” Blaine cuts him off with a kiss.
“Goodbye.” Blaine hesitated for a few seconds before walking out of the room and closing the door behind him.
Kurt nicked the skin.
“Damn.”
~
When Lucy Quinn Fabray was sixteen, she got pregnant. Her parents were shocked and appalled. In their words, they had raised her better than that.
Her mother comes to her bedroom one night and talks in riddles about how she may know someone who could make the whole thing go away. Lucy wouldn’t let them. They sent her into the country, under the excuse that she was feeling sick, and really, this Boston air was doing nothing to help her.
Five months into the pregnancy, she started wishing she’d taken her mother’s offer. She began hating that baby inside of her. Without it, she could have remained the beautiful fool she had been born to be. She would never have to deal with back pains and swollen ankles and the crippling knowledge that has much as her parents loved her, they loved their reputation more.
Nine months in, she regretted every hateful thought she had had towards her baby.
One week after the birth, they took her daughter away and she never saw her again.
Two years later, she called herself Quinn, left home and never looked back.
~
“Miss Fabray?” The young woman sitting on the lumpy bed looked up at the guard. “You’re free to go.”
Quinn Fabray stood up, adjusted her coat and hat, and walked down the corridor. She was almost positive the guard was looking at her backside and fought the urge to turn back and give him a piece of her mind.
Once outside the police station, she took a deep breath and stretched her arms.
“So, how does it feel, being arrested for the first time?” Kurt asked from where he was leaning against the wall.
“My back hurts and I’m pretty sure they put something in my food.” Quinn replied and pointed at his cigarette. “Can I have one of those?”
He reached in his pocket and pulled out the case his father had given him when he left home, and handed it to her.
“Thanks.” She replied, voice muffled as she lit it. “How did you manage to get me released?”
“One of my classmates’ dad is a State Attorney and I know a few things the old man wouldn’t be happy about.” He said as she took his arm and they walked down the street. “Just don’t be surprised if rumors start going around about you being Sebastian Smythe’s secret lover.” He stopped when she gave a short laugh and looked at the purple bruise on her cheek. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.” She smiled at him.
“I should go with you next time.” Kurt said after a small pause. “I’ll even wear a dress.” They both laugh loudly and the man unloading groceries in front of them gave them a dirty look.
“I’m actually thinking of cutting my hair. What do you think?”
“You’ll look lovely either way.”
~
One week later and Quinn was back at work, extracting from him a promise to be at her play’s opening night.
As he walked towards the theatre, he could feel eyes on him and he didn’t think it was because of his jacket. He walked a bit further before ducking into an alleyway.
“You?” The man who was following was his stepbrother’s friend from the war. “What? Did my brother put you up to this?”
“No! I just…” Dave, if he remembered correctly, seemed to be struggling for words. “I’m sorry. I’ll just go.” He didn’t move an inch. The look on his face was desperate, wanting.
“Well, who’d have known…?” Kurt muttered. Dave looked up slowly at him, before lunging forward, capturing his lips in a bruising kiss. Kurt responded eagerly before they drew apart. They stood like that for a few seconds, with Kurt’s arms still wrapped around Dave’s shoulders. The sound of laughter in the street broke the spell and a panicked Dave left before Kurt could say anything.
~
“Hey, what happened to that friend of yours?”
“Who? Dave?”
“Yeah.”
“He left. Said there was a family emergency. Why?”
“No reason.”
~
New York City, 1921
Kurt tried to keep his nerves from showing. He was sitting in an uncomfortable chair in a small office. The blinds produced stripes of yellow-ish light on the far wall. A shuffle of papers caught his attention and the man at the desk removed his reading glasses. Kurt straightened in his chair, pulling at the cufflinks.
“Well, I read your book…” He paused dramatically, glancing quickly at Kurt. “And it’s great. I’d like to publish it.”
William Shuester cracked a smile at the young writer and Kurt let his composure slip and smiled back.
“Thank you.” Mr. Shuester nodded and grabbed one of the several papers cluttering his desk.
“We’ll see about the specifics later. Is Tuesday at ten good for you?”
“Yes, that’s good. I’m free then.” Kurt nodded enthusiastically.
“Well, I’ll see you then.” The curly haired man reached forward to shake his hand as Kurt stood up. With one last assurance that, of course, he would be there, and a tip of the hat to Mr. Shuester’s redheaded secretary, he left the office.
Once outside the building, he took a deep breath before taking a step forward and losing himself in the crowd.
I need a drink.
~
The good thing about theatre types was the never ending supply of alcohol. Especially if one was a part of that group.
The previous year, Kurt, along with Artie Abrams, a cripple from the war, wrote and directed a play that was a small success. Not too big. Just big enough for their names to be heard in the right circles.
Artie Abrams owned a small apartment in Queens that felt even smaller because of the crowd of close friends that was permanently present. As is the case with those types of friends, they visited once or twice, got properly tipsy and then were never seen again.
Kurt walked up the stairs, bypassing several couples before opening the door to the apartment. As usual, several people were sprawled around the living room, with Marion Harris’ voice coming from the Edison record player and a cloud of cigarette smoke enveloping everything.
A good man is hard to find,
You always get the other kind
With practiced ease, he crossed the room without stumbling on any over-excited country girls wearing to much make up and made his way into the small balcony where he found Artie Abrams, his mistress, Tina Cohen-Chang, and the best liquor.
Then you rave, you even crave,
To see him lying in his grave
“Kurt!” Tina smiled widely at seeing him and he bent down to kiss her cheek, careful to avoid her bakelite cigarette holder. “You seem pleased. What happened?”
Kurt sits down on the wicker chair next to Artie, who was pouring himself a drink. Taking a deep breath, he spread his arms dramatically.
“They’re going to publish my book!” Cheers came from the two occupants of the balcony. Artie reached for a glass and the pitcher.
“This deserves a drink.” Artie proclaimed solemnly as he poured Kurt a glass, making Tina giggle.
By the time he left Artie’s he was already quite buzzed. He tried to appear as sober as he possibly could before making his way outside, lest he run into the only honest Prohibition agent in New York.
Besides, he had heard wonderful things about the Pearl and it was as good as any time to see if it deserved the fuss it had garnered.
Chapter Two