offer me the world;
Who: Finn Hudson and Kurt Hummel
What: FUTURE AU, FINN IS A DRUNK AND KURT IS A MODEL
Rating: god only knows let's find out 8D
California is basically the polar opposite of New York, Kurt thinks as he flicks a stray hair out of his face--he's here for a cover shoot for a fairly popular band, which he guesses is a step up from local magazines, but he's trying not to be impatient. At least his name is getting around. It's...it's not Broadway, and it's about a million miles away from where he thought he'd end up, but it's better than Lima. Anything is better than Lima.
Even modeling for bands that talk like they're plucked straight from the 1990s and are veritably surrounded by a haze of marijuana smoke, laughing the dumb, braying laughter of people that have totally checked out from reality. In a really strange way, Kurt envies them. He feels as though he's too aware of the world, everything a little too bright, a little too sharp, and looking at it is starting to make his eyes ache. (Metaphorically, of course.)
But at least he can say he's busy. And it's not a bad living, though he can count his friends on one hand, much less anything more than a friend. He'd lost touch with almost everyone from high school--last he'd heard from Rachel, she was scrubbing dishes in a dingy New York restaurant as a means to survive between fruitless auditions--and had never gotten terribly close to anyone in college, door after door seeming to close all around him. Being spotted by a modeling agency had been a blessing, he reminds himself, so he should probably be more grateful and less...
Apathetic.
Still, now's not the time to dwell on opportunities lost (or, maybe more accurately, never gained), he has a job to do. So he sets down his coffee and dabs his lips with a napkin, shouldering his bag as he looks around for the photographer.
What: FUTURE AU, FINN IS A DRUNK AND KURT IS A MODEL
Rating: god only knows let's find out 8D
California is basically the polar opposite of New York, Kurt thinks as he flicks a stray hair out of his face--he's here for a cover shoot for a fairly popular band, which he guesses is a step up from local magazines, but he's trying not to be impatient. At least his name is getting around. It's...it's not Broadway, and it's about a million miles away from where he thought he'd end up, but it's better than Lima. Anything is better than Lima.
Even modeling for bands that talk like they're plucked straight from the 1990s and are veritably surrounded by a haze of marijuana smoke, laughing the dumb, braying laughter of people that have totally checked out from reality. In a really strange way, Kurt envies them. He feels as though he's too aware of the world, everything a little too bright, a little too sharp, and looking at it is starting to make his eyes ache. (Metaphorically, of course.)
But at least he can say he's busy. And it's not a bad living, though he can count his friends on one hand, much less anything more than a friend. He'd lost touch with almost everyone from high school--last he'd heard from Rachel, she was scrubbing dishes in a dingy New York restaurant as a means to survive between fruitless auditions--and had never gotten terribly close to anyone in college, door after door seeming to close all around him. Being spotted by a modeling agency had been a blessing, he reminds himself, so he should probably be more grateful and less...
Apathetic.
Still, now's not the time to dwell on opportunities lost (or, maybe more accurately, never gained), he has a job to do. So he sets down his coffee and dabs his lips with a napkin, shouldering his bag as he looks around for the photographer.