His heart won’t — can’t — stop POUNDING: the knot of the tie around his throat too tight, fingers laced together, glancing at his reflection in the winter-chilled glass of a window display, meeting his own restless gaze: powdered snow caught in his hair, a brilliant blush of red in his cheeks, turning the corner on his way to the texted address. He’s almost LATE.
Karofsky is already waiting ( — trying to make sure Kurt wouldn’t leave ? ), in a suit and tie, a dark grimace on his heavy features, directed down at the pavement. With light, cautious steps, Kurt comes closer, ❝ Hi — Karofsky. ❞ It still feels too strange, too affectionate, to always use the other’s first name. After all, he’s never been called anything but HUMMEL.
After those few words, he finally glances into the restaurant: a few diners conversing in low murmurs, tablecloths, candles. ❝ As much as I’d like to stay out here and catch snowflakes — I’m going to warm up. You should come in, too. ❞ He says, just a bit of sharpness in his voice, cold fingers opening the door for them both. A waiter guides them to a booth, half-hidden in the back of the restaurant, and Kurt is still dazed at the splendor of velvet seats and marble floors. His menu is entirely in French, and without prices: he reads his order of a modest entrée to the waiter, but — he doesn’t have an appetite.
He glances across the table at the other boy, his shoulders drawn together, legs crossed high at the knee, hands folded in his lap. He keeps quiet, between occasional glances up at Karofsky, the basket of warm bread left untouched. Between them, there aren’t many topics to discuss, only their shared past of aches and bruises.
( He had kept the valentine: a frayed little paper heart, hidden in his drawer, like another SECRET.
— He’s been touching his mouth without realizing, pink fingertips over bitten lips, and he pulls his hand away. ❝ This is — um. ❞ He hesitates, choosing his words for a long moment. ❝ I - I can tell, you put a lot of effort into this. And this is a very — very impressive restaurant. … BUT — ❞
❝ I — I just — I want to go slow. ❞ He’s fumbling with his words, flustered, unsure how to say what he really means, how to break a heart in the gentlest way.
HE’S GENUINELY NERVOUS ; hands fidgeting uneasily as he tries to look presentable the moment he hears kurt. his anxiety about the other not showing floods into anxiety that he’ll mess something up. he can’t fumble the date ; can’t ruin his only chance to apologize. make up for the horrors he’s put the other through.
as they sit he’s regretting picking such a nice place -- was he trying too hard ? would it come off wrong ? his anxiety is given proof as the other speaks of GOING SLOW. ❛ it’s just dinner, kurt---- ❜ the name feels foreign on his tongue ; but he knows it’s not his place to call him hummel when they were supposed to be bonding. ❛ i don’t like. . . EXPECT anything out of you. ❜
he takes in a deep breath & moves to take a piece of bread ; quietly eating it before he glances at the other under dark lashes. ❛ you look nice. ❜ he finally speaks up, complimenting the other despite how it made his heart pound & his throat feel tight. he was out of his comfort zone ; dating wasn’t something he DID. ❛ i figured you like dressing up so i just. . . picked somewhere no one would know us where it was dress up worthy. ❜ he smiles a bit -- it’s genuine & softens his face. ❛ my dad said i should wear one of those gross blue tuxes. i told him i’d save it for prom or something stupid like that. ❜
gracieabrams
2087
romaincrisis
origamiaround
izzy806
tangentwithtanner
jimmyeatworldofficial
germansingergirl
