Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. Or anything from The Beatles, Cee Lo Green, or the musical Evita.
A/N: This story is weird. Don't judge me :/... I wrote it very late at night and then did virtually no editing.
Well I'm Sorry I Can't Afford a Ferrari, But That Don't Mean I Can't Get You There
Kurt doesn't have everything, contrary to popular belief. Just because on occasion he busts out the Isaac Mizrahi, that doesn't mean his entire closet is filled with designer duds. He goes shopping with Mercedes at Ross and H&M, where he usually drops about fifty dollars, not five thousand.
So he can't afford to go to Dalton. Well, shit.
"I'm actually kind of poor," he explained once to Wes and David over coffee. "My dad owns a garage, but we aren't exactly rolling in dough, if you know what I mean."
"Well of course not," Wes says.
"That would mean you were bakers." David.
"Dalton offers scholarships." Blaine reminds him, rolling his eyes at his friends. "Maybe even for music. We can find a way to get you there."
Kurt looks at him sideways and shrugs. "I'm not trying to make excuses, I'm really not," he says slowly. "I would love to go to Dalton. It's just that I actually have a lot of excuses."
"No, it's totally fine," Blaine holds up a hand. "We understand that not everyone can go there." He might have been disappointed, maybe not. Kurt couldn't tell at the time. Which sucked.
"That sucks," David announces. "You would have had a super mega awesome time at Dalton."
"You could have given the Warblers a run for their money..." Wes sighs. "No, literally. We take bets on who can nail the longest run."
"Punny," Blaine deadpans as Kurt groans, knocking back another sip of his coffee. It's totally not as good as the kind they served in the Dalton commons though. They'd had to meet halfway at a tiny coffee shop that apparently brewed their coffee using socks instead of filters.
Because Kurt can't afford to go to Dalton. Well, shit.
Aside from filing some sort of civil suit against Karofsky for exactly the price of Dalton tuition and boarding, there really isn't anything Kurt can do. It's mostly just sitting in glee and listening to Rachel talk. Or sing. Or cry. Or yell. Or complain. Whatever the noise, it's usually coming from Rachel.
Also he texts Blaine religiously. It's evolved from short encouragements like Courage or Strength or Good Posture (okay, that last one was totally a joke because Blaine is actually a pretty funny guy) into meaningful conversations about life or how their days are going, or on really bad days, Kurt's feelings.
It's actually becoming a problem.
"Kurt!" Mr. Schue calls from the front of the class. "Enough with the grape-stomping videos and pay attention! Countdown to sectionals is one month!"
"T-minus 29 days." Rachel says fiercely.
Kurt sighs, stands up, shoves his phone in his back pocket, and goes to join the others for their rendition of "And The Money Kept Rolling In (And Out)" from Evita.
When the money keeps rolling in, you don't ask how... think of all the people guaranteed a good time now...
Kurt grimaces. Yeah. There was literally no way they were singing this song for sectionals.
When New Directions takes first place at Sectionals it comes with a thousand dollar prize. Kurt watches most of it quickly disappear into a set of matching sweatshirts for the entire glee club.
Kurt feels pretty terrible about it all actually, and he's pretty sure that the Warblers would have won had that new monkey flu not been circulating the Dalton campus. But he makes up for it by letting Blaine wear his sweatshirt, because it says "New Directions singers duet in the choir room" (Mr. Schue did not approve, fyi). Besides, there's always next year for the Dalton boys. Not so much for McKinley.
"Are you scared for Regionals?" Blaine asks him a week later. Today he's acting like a five-year-old (it happens sporadically), spinning around in his rolly chair with a red vine dangling from his mouth.
"More excited than scared," Kurt says truthfully from where he's lounging on Blaine's bed. "Would you stop that? You're making me dizzy."
Blaine stops his chair by ramming his foot painfully into his desk. "You should know how proud I am of you," he says earnestly. Kurt would have swooned right then and there but the effect of the whole thing is ruined because Blaine is swaying disconcertingly in his chair and he's wearing the stupid sweatshirt.
Kurt blushes anyway. "Thanks," he says quietly.
"No problem," Blaine winks, and then falls off his chair.
Later when the glee club realizes they actually have to pay to get to New York and they probably shouldn't have blown all their money on novelty clothes, they have thousands of fundraisers.
During one of many bake sales, Blaine and Wes and David show up out of the blue to gorge themselves. Oh, and also to visit Kurt.
"Why do these cookies say 'I'm Sorry' on them?" Wes frowns at a plate of pink sugar cookies.
Rachel glares at him, hostile as usual. "Their deliciousness only works when they're made apologetically." She snaps.
Rachel is still reliably scary, so Wes jumps back, saying, "Okay, okay! I'll take a plate!"
Kurt grins a little before turning back to face Blaine, who is perusing the brownie section with an extreme scrutiny that seems severe.
"So who baked these?" He points to the plates of brownies, frowning.
"What are you, a food inspector?" Kurt raises an eyebrow at him. "Just pick something and eat it. We'll refund you if there's eggshells."
Blaine's mood seems to change rapidly. "I dunno," he shoves his hands in his pockets and stares directly at Kurt. "I was looking for something a little sweeter."
Whoa. Kurt feels his heart plummet into his stomach, hoping he's not imagining the way Blaine's eyes are actually smoldering.
On Kurt's left, Finn looks confused. "Dude, unless you want pure sugar, this is as sweet as it gets."
Blaine's eyes never leave Kurt's. He picks up a cupcake with one hand, handing Kurt a bill with the other. Kurt takes it with shaking hands.
"Keep the change," Blaine says, and how on earth did he make that sound sexy? He turns around. "Wes? David? Let's go."
"We out," David throws up a peace sign at the table and Quinn snorts.
Kurt is too busy staring at them leaving (not at Blaine's ass, thank you very much) that he doesn't notice Finn tugging on the money in his hand until he's shouting, "Holy Grilled Cheesus, this is a fifty!"
It's a perfect fairytale ending when they win Nationals, and it comes with a five thousand dollar prize that Mr. Schue decides to actually invest in the glee club budget. Kurt holds onto the corner of the laughably giant check for as long as he can before someone ends up shoving the trophy in his hands.
And he's happy about that too. It's all he ever wanted. Notoriety. Fame. Acceptance.
Except... that's not quite how life works. At William McKinley High School, the glee club is not made up of rockstars. There isn't a no harassment policy. Karofsky wished him good luck in New York by slamming him extra hard into his locker.
Try as he might, he's still stuck in Lima for another year.
It's 3:05 on Saturday afternoon when Kurt gets the letter in the mail. In the top left hand corner there's an intricate curling "D", and scrawled across the front of the envelope is the word "Congratulations!"
Kurt rips open the letter without any expectations.
Carole comes running down the stairs about a half a second later at the sound of Kurt's shrill scream, and Finn pokes his head in from the living room to ask if he's "being axe-murdered".
"No no no!" Kurt cries breathlessly, waving the letter around manically. "Look at this, look at this!"
Carole grabs for the letter unsuccessfully, mostly because Kurt throws it at her before snatching up his car keys and sprinting to the door.
"Hey, where are you going?" She asks. "What's going on?"
Kurt stops at the door. "Just read the letter," he grins, his eyes sparkling. "Oh my god, I can't believe this."
The door slams and Finn shrugs, turning back to Call of Duty. Carole skims the letter.
...we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Dalton Academy for Boys on a full ride scholarship, generously provided by several of your peers...
Blaine is listening to "Can't Buy Me Love" on repeat in his room and failing to study for a Chemistry exam when there is a frantic pounding on his door.
"Jesus, David, did Wes lock you out in your towel again? Calm down, I'm coming..." He's rolling his eyes and standing up and opening the door and quite suddenly, he's staring at Kurt Hummel, who looks like he just ran all the way from Lima.
"Kurt?" Blaine starts. "What happened? Did something happen?"
Kurt shakes his head, and Blaine barely has time to open his mouth before Kurt is fisting his hands in his "New Directions singers duet in the choir room" sweatshirt and is kissing him, hard.
It's pretty much the hottest thing Blaine has ever experienced.
Except before he can even begin to grab Kurt around the waist or run his fingers through his hair, they're interrupted by David trying to kick open the door to his and Wes's room.
"I'm out here in my towel, you jackass!" David hollers as they break apart. "And Blaine and Kurt are making out and it's super awkward!"
"I don't believe you!" Wes cries jovially from inside the room. "You're just trying to get me to open the door!"
Kurt rolls his eyes in a surprisingly blasé manner for having just kissed the hell out of Blaine and pushes them both inside the room, kicking the door closed.
"What the hell was that?" Blaine asks shakily. "And have you been eating red vines?"
Kurt's grin looks so wide it might split his face. "I know what you did." He says in the most excited breathless voice Blaine has ever heard. It sounds like angels. "All of you. I know you paid-"
"You were never supposed to know about that!" Blaine's eyes widen and he sort of chokes on thin air. "It was supposed to be a donation from alumni!"
Kurt shakes his head vigorously. "I don't care, I don't care. I mean normally I don't take charity but-"
"Trust me," Blaine finally grins back, "this is a present for me too. No more money problems for you."
They stare at each other, suddenly silent. In the hall David is still kicking the shit out of his door. "They're having sex now, Wes, and you're missing it!"
"Oh Jesus," Kurt's hand flies to his mouth. "I kissed you, didn't I? Oh god, I'm sorry..."
Blaine thinks about it all for a second. His mouth still tastes like red vines; damn if Kurt didn't eat a whole bucket on his way over here. He thinks about how he was so fucking worried he would fall for this kid. He thinks about how he was just supposed to be an advice dispenser, a friend, because Kurt isn't supposed to jump into a relationship with the first gay guy he meets.
And then he thinks, whatever.
"Kurt." Blaine says solemnly, approaching him very, very purposefully. "Do not," he puts one hand on Kurt's neck and the other one on his hip, "be sorry," he leans in dangerously close, "ever."
"Oh," Kurt says, looking a little dazed. "Okay then." He pauses. "I don't even know how to thank you," he says, his breath ghosting across Blaine's lips and driving him a little bit crazy. "All of you."
Blaine grins. "Oh, I don't know," he whispers. "I can think of a few ways. Besides, I told you I would get you here."
Kurt doesn't have everything. And then their lips meet. And then he does.