The Torn Letter

Author's Note: This story is written for a good friend of mine, as we were both inspired by a painting during our crazy adventure at an art gallery. :) Brianna, I hope you like it.

New York was supposed to be magical.

He was supposed to get into his dream school and get cast in a prestigious play. He was supposed to have a great, well-paying job and co-workers who liked him. He was supposed to spend lots of time with his roommate and best friend, Rachel, and cross things off their bucket lists weekly. He was supposed to put the Hell that was McKinley behind him and be popular in this new setting. He was supposed to meet his dream guy and live happily ever after.

Well, life never turns out how you want it to.

He didn't get into NYADA and none of his auditions have worked out. Being employed at was fantastic, but all the people who worked there were kind of bitter about his success and bond with his boss, Isabelle Wright. Rachel was barely home, spending many nights partying or rehearsing, and leaving him by himself at their flat. He didn't have many friends.

And then there was Zach.

Kurt looks down at the letter clutched in his hands. It's wrinkled from the many times he has opened and closed it, crunched it up and then smoothed it out again. He's sitting on a park bench near the edge of the path. Not very many people are walking around today, because the clouds are murky and roiling, casting a threatening glance to whoever looks out their window. Kurt wants to rub his arms through his thin jacket, but can't find the energy; he just stares at the letter in his hands, reading the scrawled words for the umpteenth time.

not ready for this kind of commitment…

you're great, but…

for the best…

not compatible…

I'm sorry.

Kurt stares at those two words and bites his lip, trying to keep from screaming or crying, he can't tell.

I'm sorry.

Kurt first met Zach at a bar. Newly moved to New York, Kurt was out with his co-workers from (before they resented him) as a type of initiation. They weren't very happy when he told them that he didn't drink. They tried to pressure him, but Kurt wouldn't budge on his resolve. He was worried that it would end in a fight but, thankfully, they left him alone and got wasted at the other end of the bar. Kurt was sitting by himself with a frown on his face and a diet coke in his hand when Zach came up and introduced himself.

He was taller than Kurt, with sandy blonde hair and a smattering of freckles across his nose. He smiled and asked if he could buy him a drink. Kurt, flustered, replied that he didn't drink. Zach just shrugged, took it in stride, and asked for a dance instead. Kurt didn't decline that offer.

Kurt feels the chill of the wind and shivers, but he still doesn't move. Time is relative, and he doesn't have the energy or the obligations to do much of anything today. He's not sure how long he's been sitting on this dark blue park bench in the middle of the park, but he doesn't care. A girl with short hair, spiked up at the top, and black Converse passes by. She seems to notice him, hesitates, but appears to be in too much of a hurry to stop. The compassion in her blue eyes makes Kurt's heart feel a little warmer, though, when she gives him a sad smile and a wave. He understands.

Zach was perfect, it seemed. They had quite a few of the same interests and were very compatible. Kurt began to think that maybe things would work out in New York, after all. Zach and Kurt became official boyfriends after about a month of getting to know each other. They would go out for dinner sometimes, or just stay indoors and watch a movie. It was nice.

But, Kurt has learned that nothing nice ever lasts.

After about five months of dating, Kurt allowed himself to get comfortable—too comfortable. One evening, he and Zach were lying in bed, relaxing after a couple hours of…activities. Kurt, limbs loose and mind free, mentioned the prospects of the future. Somehow, through the string in conversation, he rested on the hazy and bright image of a beautiful beginning with his partner. He mentioned—vaguely and hypothetically—the idea of the kind of world their children would grow up in.

It was a passing comment, not serious and completely devoid of commitment, but Zach grew quiet. Kurt asked him what was wrong, but he brushed it off. He simply drew the brunette close to him and kissed his neck. Kurt fell asleep, not suspecting anything was amiss.

He woke up to an empty bed and a letter placed on his pillow.

Kurt hadn't meant to scare Zach away, but that was the result. He distanced himself so far away from Kurt that the fashionable man didn't even know what to do with the hole in his life.

And, now, he's sitting on a park bench by himself…and it's begun to rain.

Seeing the droplets hit the paper in his hand and smudge the ink, Kurt tilts his head back and looks at the malicious sky above him, dark and threatening. "Please, no," he mutters. It clearly has no mercy for him, whatsoever, because the rain grows from a drizzle to more of a downpour in mere seconds. His jacket soaked through, hair plastered to his face, Kurt finally lets himself cry. The tears mix in with the precipitation as he shivers, clutching the letter in his hand. A fit of rage overtakes him at how miserable he is, slumped over and shaking in the middle of nowhere, soaked to the bone.

He lifts the piece of paper in his hands and tears it to as many pieces as possible, before letting them fall to the puddles on the ground.

Kurt sits there and allows himself to cry and wallow in his own misery. However, this is interrupted. The first thing he notices is that the rain stops its assault on his head. The second comes to him when he opens his eyes in confusion and sees a pair of brown boat shoes in his line of vision. The shoes are on the ends of legs wearing mustard yellow jeans, rolled up at the ankles. A maroon cardigan is tucked into those jeans. Kurt's gaze travels even further up to settle on the face of the intruder.

He has a strong jaw and a nice smile, with curly dark hair plastered down by the rain. His eyes are hazel and framed in long lashes. And he's holding a blue umbrella over Kurt's head.

With a start, Kurt stops staring and finds his manners. "What are you doing?" he asks, politely pushing the handle of the umbrella back towards the stranger, "You're going to get wet."

The young man shrugs. "So are you," he points out. His voice is like melted chocolate.

"I'm pretty sure there's no hope for me, anymore."

With a little crooked smile, the stranger sits down on the park bench beside Kurt. "How about we share?" he offers. He doesn't wait for an answer, simply scooting over until they're both under the protection from the rain. Kurt notices absently that the stranger is shorter than him.

"Who are you?" Kurt asks. He doesn't mean to be so abrupt, but it comes out kind of wary.

The stranger gives him a sad little smile. "Somebody who cares," he replies simply, "You looked a little sad."

Kurt frowns in confusion. It's not that this isn't welcome, he just doesn't understand. "But, you don't know me."

A smile and a flash of bright hazel eyes, then a tan hand is offered to him. "I'm Blaine."

"Kurt." They shake hands.

"There," Blaine states, "Now I know you."

Kurt just shakes his head in bemusement at the young man beside him. He's a little suspicious, because nobody could be this much of an angel without an ulterior motive, right? Blaine breaks the short silence, speaking over the rain. "What's wrong?"

Automatically, Kurt responds with, "Nothing's wrong."

Blaine purses his lips and gives his companion a stern look. "Nobody sits out in the rain looking as miserable as you for no reason," he states.

Kurt gives a rueful sort of laugh. "I guess you're right." Blaine has an open expression and nothing about him seems threatening that Kurt almost breaks and spills everything, but he can't let himself trust a stranger like this. "But I'd rather not talk about it," he mutters.

The other man's smile never changes. "Okay," he says simply. "But, what do you say about joining me for coffee? We should get out of this rain, and you look like you need some warming up."

Kurt looks at Blaine, studies his kind face and his appearance, internally studies the way that this man makes him feel. He glances down at the shredded-up letter, a soggy mess on the ground.

Blue eyes meet hazel and Kurt finally allows himself to smile. It's a shadow of what it used to be, but it's there. "Sure," he says. Blaine stands up and offers his hand, umbrella grasped in the other one. Kurt takes it and allows Blaine to pull him to his feet and away from the rain.

Author's Second Note: I dunno, that was okay. :P Let me know what you thought! I appreciate every review!

Take care.

-Patricia Sage