fic - Glee: Well the Rest of My Life Lay in Front of Me, Kurt/Blaine

Title: Well, the Rest of My Life Lay in Front of Me
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine
Notes: Title taken from Paul McCartney's "Move Over Busker."


Kurt had learned that his boyfriend had a talent for understating certain things. Like when he said, "I got taunted at my old school," what he meant was, "three guys kicked the living crap out of me." And when he said, "three guys kicked the living crap out of me," what he meant was, "it was so bad that I missed a semester of my freshman year." Between recovery time and credits that didn't transfer to Dalton, Blaine was almost an entire year behind on the course credit he needed to graduate.

They'd talked about it a lot. The assault itself, when Kurt could coax it out of him, but mostly about what Blaine needed to do to join Kurt in New York as early as possible.

Kurt had thought Blaine would take a bunch of summer classes, get his final credits in the fall, and transfer to college in the spring.

He had not been expecting this.

"I don't get why you're surprised. I told you I was going to New York with you. You've seen how much I've been studying." Blaine was leaning against the side of his car, parked in Kurt's driveway and stuffed with luggage. He looked perfectly at ease, which was in direct contrast to Kurt, who was pacing and waving his arms in disbelief.

"I thought you were taking supplemental classes to make up your credits or something!" Kurt cried. "Blaine, a person has to be either very smart or very stupid to drop out of high school."

"I'm sensing you don't think I'm the former." Blaine was grinning like he found Kurt's panic cute.

"God, Blaine, you can't do this for me. If we agreed that I can't stay in Lima an extra year for you, then you definitely can't drop out of high school to follow me to New York—"

"I didn't drop out."

"You're not going to your senior year!"

"I've already got my GED, Kurt. I tested out."

"People with GEDs make less than people with diplomas."

"I don't think there's a direct correlation. And I'm going to be making whatever people feel like throwing in an open guitar case, so it's irrelevant," Blaine said cheerfully.

"That's not job security, Blaine! That's gussied up begging!"

"Kurt. Hey, come on," Blaine said, reaching out to touch Kurt's shoulder and stop his pacing. "I didn't make this decision on a whim, okay? I've been thinking about this for a long time. Since before I met you, actually." Kurt gave him a skeptical look. "Seriously. I mean—before, I was thinking I'd go to San Francisco just for the warmer weather, but I've been considering what sort of career I want for years. And if I can do it and be with you, then it's all the better."

"I'm going to be living in a dorm, Blaine, where are you going to sleep?" Kurt's eyes widened in horror. "Oh, God, please don't let the answer to that be 'in my car.'"

"No, parking in New York is too expensive." Blaine patted the hood of his '59 Chevy Impala. "I'm driving this up to Philadelphia. I've already got a buyer lined up that'll give me twenty-six thousand for it—I figure I can stretch that pretty far. Then I'll take a bus the rest of the way to New York and meet you there."

"Yeah? And what if they decide they don't want it after all?" Kurt demanded.

"More than one person responded to the ad, Kurt. Worst case scenario, it takes me a little longer to get to you."

"No, the worst case scenario is you get carjacked and stranded in Philly."

Blaine shrugged. "I've got a bat under the driver's seat."

"Blaine," Kurt said, exasperated.

"Kurt," Blaine mimicked, though he did it with a gentle smile. "I've never been excited about the prospect of college. The only things I've ever really liked about school are the extracurriculars—and the people," he added with a sly grin.

"No one likes school. It's just better than being jobless and homeless."

"I don't think it's for me," Blaine shrugged.

Kurt passed a hand over his hair, almost giving in to the impulse to pull it. "You can't make a living busking, Blaine."

"It's possible," Blaine denied. "Granted it doesn't happen often, but it is possible. I'm applying for MUNY in January."

"What?" Kurt said blankly. "You just said you aren't going to college. What does that stand for, the Minstrel University of New York?"

Blaine grinned at him. "It's Music Under New York. It's set up by the MTA's Arts for Transit to make subways and stuff more appealing."

"What if you don't get it?"

Blaine shrugged. "Then I'll pick a street corner."

"What if you get rained on and catch pneumonia and can't sing and lose your livelihood and die because you don't have health insurance?" Kurt demanded frantically. "What if you fall in a snow drift—"

"I'm sure that won't happen, Kurt," Blaine interrupted with a laugh. He grasped his arms and rubbed them soothingly as Kurt started to protest. "I think I have a pretty strong application, anyway. I've got my resume with all my theme park performances, that review that singled me out as a 'classic crooner,' a DVD of our Regionals performance and those videos Tina took for me, and a seriously glowing letter from Thad, so a recommendation from one of The Bubs…"

"You had Tina record your performances?"

"Yeah. Don't worry, I edited out the ends with the flaming piano and that teacher throwing me out of class for getting on her desk and Coach Sylvester turning the hose on me and—"

"What do your parents have to say about this?" Kurt tried.

"Pretty much the same thing they had to say about me transferring to McKinley: 'real men take care of themselves' and 'good, I won't have to pay for it.'"

Kurt winced. "Sorry."

Blaine let go of Kurt, folding his arms and leaning more heavily against the driver's side door. "They stopped caring what I do after they found out one of the things I do is kiss guys. I'm eighteen; they're not going to try to talk me into staying."

Kurt moved to lean beside him, rubbing at his tense shoulder until Blaine exhaled and relaxed. He turned to face Kurt, hip cocked against the car, and took his hands.

"Look, Kurt… I'm a performer, not an actor."

"Semantics."

"No, really," Blaine insisted. "When it comes to me acting like I know what I'm doing versus leading a performance, we both know which I excel at." He flashed Kurt a quick smile, which Kurt couldn't help but return.

Blaine rubbed Kurt's knuckles with his thumbs. "I like spontaneity. I like being able to use my surroundings more than adhering to strict choreography. I like the idea of including anyone that wants to stop and watch, not just the people that could afford a ticket. I like rousing a crowd. I gave theatre a try last year. It's not that I didn't have fun doing West Side Story, I just have more fun when my audience doesn't sit politely in their seats.

"I'd like being able to have control over my schedule. I'd like the independence. I'd get to keep everything I earn and I'd really enjoy earning it, Kurt. I'd rather be on the street than on the stage."

Kurt chewed on the inside of his cheek uncertainly. Blaine was giving him his most sincere puppy-dog eyes, but he just wasn't sure…

"And if we need the money I can give piano lessons, or be a barista or a waiter or something. I'm friendly, I'd do well in a service job. Plus I could get us free coffee that way," he finished brightly, squeezing Kurt's hands.

It was that casual use of "we" that did Kurt in. He let out a long sigh. "I still think you're a little crazy."

Blaine lit up, throwing his arms around him in a tight hug that Kurt returned with just as much force. He pulled back, gave Kurt a flirty grin, and said, "Anyway, I'm pretty good at drawing in strangers with my performances, wouldn't you say?"

"I hope this doesn't mean you're going to be grabbing the hands of random spectators and serenading them." Dry sarcasm was hard to accomplish when Blaine looked at him like that.

Blaine beamed. "Only if a really cute college freshman happens by to watch."

"One thing," Kurt said, holding up a finger, and Blaine's eyebrows rose attentively. "You have to swear to me that you won't stop shaving."

Blaine burst out laughing.

"I'm serious, Blaine! You cannot turn into a sexy hobo."

"I promise to budget for hair gel," Blaine said, looping his arms around Kurt's waist and tugging him closer.