The red string of fate ties these tales together and binds them to each other a second time, and so a new chapter begins.
[Disclaimer: This RP is in no way shape or form associated with FOX, Glee, Chord Overstreet, Chris Colfer, etc.]
The call comes on his way to Reggie’s dorm, just after he passes the Starbucks Drew works at. He stops and leans against the store window, frowning down at the caller ID. For a long moment, he considers letting it go to voicemail, but in the end he gives in, sighs, and answers. “Hello?”
You see, the universe has a plan kids, and that plan is always in motion. A butterfly flaps its wings, and it starts to rain. It’s a scary thought but it’s also kind of wonderful. All these little parts of the machine constantly working, making sure that you end up exactly where you’re supposed to be, exactly when you’re supposed to be there. The right place at the right time.
-obviously Pietru was the one replying
“Hi Kurt. Funny, I didn’t even know you had an answering machine. Anyway, it’s midnight here, and I reminded myself it was midnight for you some time ago and… I sort of just wanted to…” A beat. “Fuck, someone needs to take my phone away from me after drinking. I end up calling people like you. And then I have no idea what to say. Anyway, I just hope you had a nice Christmas and all, and a good New Year’s Eve, I mean, it must be amazing in New York, right? I hope you had fun. With your friends and all. And your head won’t hurt really bad in the morning. Because you’re not very good with drinking and all. And I hope that next year will be good for you. So…basically, Happy New Years, just said like…way longer.” Another pause. “Maybe we could talk sometime soon. So, yeah, best wishes.”
AnonymousStay tuned, nonnie! Spoilers ruin the fun!
It’s like they decided they need to take turns taking care of Sam, like spending a Friday evening alone could kill him. So there’s always a party, or a movie marathon, or just hanging out, sometimes with all his friends, sometimes with just a few of them, and all of it seems oddly planned – how a few guys suggested he watch superhero movies the other weekend and Toby asked if Sam could teach him how to play video games and how the Victoria girl mentioned something about musicals and Molly punched her in the arm, frowning warningly, because musicals are some kind of connection to Kurt, and all connection to Kurt is evil, Kurt who anyway, no one ever mentions Kurt. It’s surprising they don’t try to censor everything about New York, or the whole east coast.
As of late, Kurt’s closet has been less than tidy; there are ties hidden somewhere in one of the jackets, buttons sitting inside waiting to get stepped on, accessories lost inside shoes. It isn’t so much laziness as it has been being too distracted to pay much attention to it. Sorting through schoolwork and new friends has been difficult enough as it is, but making preparations to see Sam and have Sam over have been distracting him in his free time as well. It’s a lame excuse for not cleaning his closet, he thinks as he finds another errant tie hiding in his black satin vest, but it is true.
“Why do I even own a Christmas tie?” Kurt wonders, frowning at the red and green pattern.
“Blaine?” Sam suggests, leaning on the doorway.
Anonymous1h 20min left!
For the most part, Penny and Reggie leave Sam and Kurt alone, letting them skate around hand in hand while Penny braces the wall for support and Reggie skates in front of her, hands behind his back. There’s a light snow that comes down overhead from the night sky, building up on the rink and all over their clothes as they glide across the ice. Like most things in nighttime New York City, everything is brightly lit, from the white lights lighting the rink to the decorative lights on the Christmas tree. Sam’s hand is warm in Kurt’s, though it’s harder to grasp when they’re both wearing thick gloves, and Kurt squeezes it gently as they pass the tree again.
“My mother always wanted to take me here just so we could see this,” Kurt points out, his eyes glued to the multicolor lights. “It’s so pretty, isn’t it?”
