PROLOGUE

Kurt took off his sunglasses, taking a quick look at his wristwatch, a Gucci G-Timeless given to him by Blaine for their third anniversary. He realized he was fifteen minutes earlier for his appointment with Madeleine Moreau, Vogue NY's latest asset for fashion editing. He had last seen her two months before, at the end of September, excited and a little scared for her first time at Paris Fashion Week, where she would interview Anok Yai, named model of the year and Prada's muse.

Kurt and Madeleine became friends thanks to their passion for fashion, and Kurt had been her admirer before he was a colleague, when he happened to come across "Drops of fashion", the independent blog run by Madeleine. It was Kurt who advised Isabelle to offer her a job.

After Maddie's departure for Paris, Kurt had received several photos of the various runways from her, and video calls where she showed him every angle of the Eiffel Tower.

He crossed the threshold of the Sea Pearl, checking the half-empty tables with a half smile. In his haste, he had forgotten to reserve a table.

He didn't mind the atmosphere of the place, although he'd only been there two or three times. The pastel shades of the tablecloths and the bar counter were delicately matched to those of the dark gray walls, creating a play of subtle and innovative nuances. It had looked like a luxury ship's interior, but with a rustic touch given by the decorations: a rudder, the model of a pirate ship, a fishing net embellished with silhouettes of fish and starfish. Kurt loved the beauty, the fusion of colors, and his work at Vogue had only increased this predisposition.

He was greeted by a waiter in his twenties, or younger, with a dazzling smile. He had rather long ash-blond hair, that brushed his shoulders, and green eyes. "Can I help you?" He asked, with a slight southern accent. Kurt nodded, looking narrowingly to read the name of the label printed on the boy's uniform. "Yes, thank you ... James. I'm waiting for a friend."

With a nod, James invited Kurt to follow him. "No problem. I can accommodate you. Can I bring something to drink while waiting?"

"A Diet Coke. Thank you very much," Kurt replied, using a friendly tone. The boy reminded him of the brief period in which he had worked at the Lima Bean, after finishing high school. He still seemed awkward, inexperienced, perhaps shy.

Kurt chose the table by the window with a view of the main road, rather than the one suggested by James, next to the large aquarium where he caught a glimpse of two tropical fishes with red and blue fins playing - or fighting - surrounded by so many smaller, less flashy fishes.

Kurt preferred to get lost in the images of traffic and the sound of the car hornes, muffled by the indoors, made even more enjoyable by the notes of a classical low-volume symphony played in the restaurant. He sipped his Diet Coke, admiring the multitude of people and lives that intertwined among those skyscrapers and racing cars. He saw an elderly woman with a Chihuahua in her arms get out of a taxi, bumped and apologized by a tattooed teenager with a thick mass of green hair. A tramp, wearing a coat too light for the cold weather of those days, was sitting on the side of the road and asking for handout, when a woman with a stroller stopped beside him, offering a donut.

If he concentrated enough, Kurt could hear their thoughts: a whirl of voices, worries and excitement that were lost in the air.

Lima, where he was born and raised, was an anonymous town of identical houses and long lawns, freshly painted fences and homemade blueberry pies. Kurt had learned to respect it, and sometimes, nestled between the sheets of his Manhattan apartment, he felt a slight nostalgia for the place he had seen his uniqueness grow towards the smell of gasoline and engines that permeated his father's workshop , towards the family dinners, Carol's warm smiles and skirmishes with Finn, who always forgot to make the bed. Although Kurt had learned to love the simplicity of Lima, he also knew that New York was part of him, as if the very essence of the city ran through his veins. He loved the smells, the deafening noises, the faces that described a thousand colors and cultures, the walks through Central Park, Broadway and that world of paiette and dreams, an unattainable destination for young boys who, like him, knew they were more than their already written existences.

"Kurt?" A female voice, warm and harmonious, interrupted that vortex of thoughts, that nostalgia of past reminiscences, and Kurt smiled back at a beautiful girl with long red hair, with a blue parisienne-style beret and face covered in freckles.

He stood up quickly, giving Madeleine a brief hug. She dropped three massive folders on the table and a few spreads of notes. "I have so much to tell you, Kurt. It was incredible," She exclaimed with that blazing light in her eyes that Kurt loved so much. He sat in front of him, looking for the waiter. "But first I want to eat something. I heard that in this place they make a fantastic Creme Brulèe."

Kurt couldn't hold back a laugh. "It's like you never left Paris, right?" Madeleine winked at him. "Once you've been to Paris, you never leave it. One day you'll understand it too."

James approached their table, his forehead slightly sweaty. "Can I help you?"

Madeleine swirled a lock of hair between her fingers, and used a persuasive tone. "Two menus and a soda. Thanks."

When James left, Maddie barely laughed. "Cute," she said in a low voice. Kurt rolled his eyes. He had missed her innocent way of flirting.

When Dave stepped into the kitchen, he found himself in the arms of a short, olive-skinned man huddled around his neck before he could even begin the speech he had prepared, where he apologized for his long absence.

"Diego!" Dave returned the hug, heartened by his friend's - restaurant's chef - spontaneous reaction.

He knew they were all happy to see him, but he couldn't shake off that annoying sense of guilt due to his long absence.

"I missed you, Karofsky," said cheerfully Robert McHale, sou-chef, behind them, with the apron, stained by rocket salad sauce used to prepare the most famous salmon dish in the restaurant. Rob raised his thumb on his right hand, laughing at the emotional reaction of Diego and Dave, who had shining eyes, although he tried to hide it by covering his face with the other man's shoulder.

Robert hit Diego's shoulder. "A little dignity, Fernandéz, or I'll begin to think you have a crush on Dave." The three men laughed, and Diego shook his head. "You are the usual insensitive. It seems like a lifetime has passed since I last saw David."

There was a few seconds of awkward silence, and Dave, assailed again by guilt and memories that he wanted to bury forever, bit his lip, and looked down.

Dave had met Diego in a bar in Brooklyn, years before. He had started a story that lasted a few months with the bartender in that place, and he had exchanged a beer with Diego on one of those nights when he had waited for the guy's turn to end. A spontaneous friendship was born, one of those destined to last. Dave had started attending the Italian restaurant where Diego worked at the time, and the two often spent their evenings in each other's company. Sometimes Diego had vice of perfectionism, but it was what made his dishes works of art.

Dave liked that part of him that loved to take care of people, that sense of positivity that emanated his being and that affection, almost fraternal, that sprang from every gesture, from his every word. Diego never forgot a birthday, he always looked for the good side of situations and loved children and birdwatching. After the birth of his daughter Lucìa, of whom Dave had become godfather, Diego had given way to the boy who was still inside him, and often he liked to entertain Lucìa's little friends by creating dishes with the shapes of animals, hearts, and cars.

During his free days he distributed meals to the homeless, and for some years he had distance-adopted three siblings who lived in the Congo, and of whom he proudly exhibited the photos. Dave was sure that in his life, Diego had never hated anyone, and he just had that innate way to please anyone he met.

In the last nine months that Dave passed in Lima, Diego and Rob had maintained contact with him and called him regularly. Thanks to their stubbornness, Dave had never forgotten he had friends, people who cared enough for him to contact him just to know if he had eaten, or if he had left home. These nine months had been too much like a prison, from which he was coming out with his willpower and with the knowledge of having a place to return to and a family, albeit without blood ties, that would have waited for him with open arms.

Diego caught his eye, and Dave mirrored his eyes in his dark ones. He had a thick black hair, sprouted with gray, that hopeful look of one who was still a boy in the heart and the round face, with a slight hint of beard. Diego's wife had confided to him that she had fallen in love with the dimples that appeared on his cheeks with every smile, and with his long eyelashes and full lips. He was shorter than Dave, and seemed much younger than his forty-two.

"It's over, Dave. Now you're back," he told him with an affectionate expression. Rob nodded, "And you won't leave soon," he sentenced. "Yes, it's a threat." Both of them laughed, as if nothing had ever happened, and Dave's guilt dissipated like mist in the sun.

"Yes, I'm back," he proclaimed proudly, pushing away the doubts that were bugging him days before he returned.

Unlike Diego, Rob was very tall and slender, almost Nordic with his blond hair and gray eyes. Dave had met him at the university, where they both played on the same football team. Robert was the typical, somewhat immature boy who loved to surround himself with girls, but who couldn't really fall in love with any of them. He preferred to share a few laughs with a friend, rather than behaving like a knight, and really courting a woman. Rob reminded Dave of Azimio or Puck - two of the boys on the same football team in high school to whom he was particularly attached - but Rob had grown up in a family of two mothers, and because of this coming out to him turned out to be simple, and ended up celebrating with some drinks.

Rob instructed one of the new boys to cut tomatoes for mussel soup, while Diego accompanied Dave down the kitchen, where he briefly greeted two colleagues, intent on filleting salmon and stirring a mixture of vegetables respectively.

"I can't wait to tell my wife about your return. She was very worried," said Diego, and Dave blushed, remembering the pink cards, sprinkled with perfume, sent weekly by Gloria to his house in Lima "Thank her for the support, and tell her I can't wait to see her." Diego nodded, when a tall woman of color and clearly pregnant approached them.

"Suzanne," Dave exclaimed, embracing the woman with apprehension, given the considerable size of her stomach. "I'm so happy to see you. I heard it's a girl. "

Suzanne giggled, touching her belly with a hand. "Her name is Naja. She will be born in January. "

Dave had never seen her more beautiful and radiant, and this warmed his heart knowing that happiness was possible, despite the world was filled with hatred, violence and chaos.

He hoped one day to find the same serenity as Suzanne, and this thought made him smile to himself, with a slight melancholy. For the past few months it had been too difficult for him to think of the future.

Diego moved away from them to check on the fish, leaving him alone with Suzanne.

She - a head manager for two years - grabbed him by the arm. She was trustworthy and incredibly self-confident. "I'm really happy to see you, Dave. I have so many things to tell you." They stepped outside the kitchen, where Dave stared for a moment at the wooden rudder that adorned the room, just above the aquarium.

He admired the old furrows of the wood, which he had once traced with his fingers, and the white contours. The olden smell of a little-frequented store on a small street in Stockholm. Dave stopped those thoughts, knowing that they would lead him into a dark tunnel of regrets and nostalgia.

"I heard the new waiter - James? - started working last month. What do you think of him?" he asked, trying to redirect the flow of his thoughts. James was only nineteen, and Dave had only seen him through his CV photo. He had worked as a waiter in a pizzeria, but had no experience in mid-high level restaurants.

"He's still shy, but I think he's learning fast. He strives a lot, and is good with customers."

Dave nodded. "I'm happy to hear you say that." He trusted Suzanne's judgment. She was the kind of person who didn't like to embellish the truth, or please others.

They approached the counter, the chatter of customers rang in Dave's ears like a melody he hadn't listened to in a long time. Suzanne opened a drawer, and grabbed a black notebook. She opened one of the last pages, drawing asterisks with a pencil next to the most important events. Dave focused his attention on Suzanne's orderly writing.

"Marco will join us tonight, and will remain until I return. I left a list for him. On Sunday, at 9pm, the upstairs room is booked for that company dinner I told you on the phone. On Saturday, Mr. Huang booked the room for his daughter's eighteenth birthday, and the guest list should come soon. Check the emails. Also mrs Pierce-Lopez wants to know if we agree to the catering service. "

Dave felt a surge of pride, thinking of Brittany's path, and where it had taken her. "Of course, we agree. I'll call her as soon as I can."

They were interrupted by a breathless James, who was heading towards the kitchen. Dave stopped him with ahand. "Is everything all right?" asked "Dave Karofsky," He held out his hand to the boy, introducing himself. "I am the owner of the Sea Pearl." The boy went straight, trying to look professional. He squeezed Dave's extended hand. "James Callaghan. Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Katofsky. I need five menus. Two for table twelve, and three for table seventeen.

"Dave smiled reassuringly. Instantly, he liked that kid.

"Call me Dave," he asserted. "Why don't you take a ten minute break? I'll take care of the menus."

Dave arranged the sleeves of the shirt he was wearing, turning them just above the elbows, and put on an apron. For the first time, after nine months, he felt full, and ready to start again.

Kurt marked part of Maddie's material with a red pen. She had a rather messy handwriting, the words too close to each other, but to which Kurt was now accustomed. "This part has to be reviewed, but I prefer to show it to Isabelle, to have a confirmation."

Madeleine sipped some of her soda. "I still need to get Anok's approval for the interview. It should be up to days." She opened her handbag and took the latest model iPhone from it's back pocket. It had the same cover as Dolce & Gabbana that they had reviewed in the latest issue of Vogue.

She showed Kurt a photo of her, arms around the waist of Anok Yai, who wore a tight black leather dress. Maddie, more pale with her light skin and her pastel makeup, wore a long blue dress, her hair tied in a chignon. She smiled at the camera like a groupie at the concert of her favorite band.

"Anok is fantastic, Kurt," she said enthusiastically, punctuating the words. "Not only is she extremely intelligent, but I love her sense of humor. In the end we talked about basketball. Did you know she was part of a team before she became a model?"

Kurt looked at her with the air of someone who knew very well what was going on. "Another crush, Maddie?"

She rolled her eyes, and drew a long dreamy sigh. "You too would have a crush on her."

"In middle school I had a crush on Kristin Chenoweth, so anything is possible." The atmosphere was friendly, more like a meeting of two old friends, rather than a business lunch. Madeleine radiated joy and happiness, with a tinge of self-centeredness that reminded him of Rachel Berry, his best friend since his school days, from which, however, he had drifted apart in recent years.

Kurt felt comfortable with Maddie, as if they had known each other forever.

"Hello," a male voice interrupted. "I brought two menus." Kurt turned, and at a second glance recognized David Karofsky.

The boy who had made life in high school impossible for him, but with whom he had established a relationship similar to a friendship, just before graduation. He hadn't seen him for ten years, more precisely after his marriage to Blaine.

He gasped, unable to find the words, in shock.

"David?" He asked, his tone louder than normal. He had to remind himself that he was no longer in Lima, but in the middle of New York. Dave was motionless, with the menus in his hands, just as surprised as Kurt was. His face looked thinner, more mature, and he had a longer haircut than Kurt remembered. "What a surprise," he said, using an embarrassed smile.

Maddie stared at Kurt, and then turned to Dave. "Do you know each other?"

Kurt replied blushing. "We attended the same high school."

Dave nodded, and put the menus on the table. Madeleine took one, and looked through it absently. "Yeah," Dave continued. "It's been a long time." He stretched the apron, and hoped he wouldn't make a bad impression after all those years.

"Oh, another guy from Ohio. How small the world is," laughed Maddie, unaware of the rather complicated situation between the two. "An octopus salad, and a creme bruléè."

"All the same to me," Kurt said, not looking at the menu, then cleared his throat. "Have you been working here for a long time?"

Dave noticed Kurt's green-tinged blue eyes, detail he had almost forgotten. His heart stopped in his chest. He didn't expect that question, and was taken aback.

"The place is mine, but I try to help." He ran a hand through his hair, still a little awkward, pleasantly impressed by Kurt's reaction. He tried to give himself an attitude, remembering that he was no longer a boy.

"In-incredible," said Kurt.

To avoid the discomfort, and a silence that would have been somewhat mortifying, Dave grabbed the menus again. "I'll give your orders to the kitchen immediately," he said, and added, with a quieter tone, "I'm happy to see you again, Kurt."

"Me too," the other replied, but Dave had already left.

Maddie looked at him quizzically, her eyebrows raised. "Your ex-boyfriend?" As in a movie, Kurt felt his breath leave him, and coughed, as if something had stuck in his throat. He spent whole few minutes denying with perhaps too much conviction.

Dave sat back down at the counter, looking briefly at a mother who held the hand of a little girl a few years old, headed for the bathroom. He lost himself in the sound of those steps, and was interrupted at the sight of James walking away from the kitchen, with two fish fry dishes. His mind was carried away by that buzz, plunging him into past memories now set aside in a dark corner of his memory. He saw the terrified and angry sixteen-year-old Dave push Kurt against McKinley's lockers, hoping that the rejection and violence would kill those strange desires he was slowly beginning to understand. Kurt's face had brought to the light those conflicting feelings of love-hate he had during the most delicate years of his life, and Dave felt a sense of slight confusion, however, matched by a surge of excitement and shyness that he thought he had left behind once entered adulthood. It was a feeling of almost childlike tenderness, but with dark colors. A first tormented love, the one he now rarely thought of, but which marked, with it's bitterness, many of the most important stages of his life.

The last memory that Dave kept of Kurt Hummel dated back at least to ten years before, and that face, which he remembered so clearly, still possessed a fresh youthful delicacy, enriched however by a certain maturity and refinement that Kurt had surely acquired during his life in New York.

A part of him, meeting Kurt again, immediately felt the desire to receive his approval, although his rational part showed him mercilessly the absurdity of those thoughts. It was a necessity he had no control over, like hunger or sleep. It was childish, irrational, almost comical, but he couldn't pretend that need for Kurt's acceptance was gone. The delicate period he was experiencing had certainly reopened many wounds, making him more susceptible and leaving room for his inherent sensitivity, at the mercy of old guilt feelings and emotions difficult to manage. Dave cursed that mental passivity, and that inert way of following his heart instead of his head.

Had he met Kurt months earlier, his reaction would have been different, more normal, surprised, and less focused on memories and mistakes that he couldn't change.

He knew that Blaine had married Kurt in an impromptu wedding during Brittany and Santana's one, even though the details of that affair were unknown to him. He had never asked too many questions, and although he considered their decision rather hasty, he had sent congratulations to Blaine, hoping for the two of them to have a happy future. After the mistakes of his adolescence, for which he had never stopped feeling guilty, he had learned to live his life without resentment, so that he could look in the mirror and see a person to be proud of. He owed it to his father, he owed it to Kurt, and above all he owed it to himself.

He hoped that the Kurt he had seen, sitting at the table in front of that red-haired girl, was happy, satisfied, and that he was appreciated for his uniqueness, unlike the boy from Lima whom Dave remembered, and to whom he had made the life impossible.

Suzanne, wearing a long coat and winter gloves, interrupted her journey through memories, putting her hand on his shoulder. "I hope to see you at the Mystic Lion tomorrow night, otherwise this could turn out to be a tearful goodbye." Dave turned to her tall figure and her thick black curls. On her shoulder she held a small white backpack with the lotus flower keychain.

"Is everything all right, Dave?" She asked worriedly, bringing her face closer to his. "Looks like you just saw a ghost." Her skin smelled of lavender, evoking a familiar and nostalgic feelings in Dave.

"Just an old friend from high school," he replied, erasing from his face the shadow of concern that made him look hurt.

To avoid further explanation, he stood up and grabbed Suzanne in a friendly hug. "I don't think I can come tomorrow night. I have to clear the apartment, and will be exhausted once everything is finished. "

Suzanne crossed her arms over her chest. "That's why you should come. What you need friends for if not to cheer you up? "

He shrugged. "At least you won't be jealous of me during the toast."

She laughed, but shook her head. "You're always the same," she said. "I'll wait for you anyway, and I think Rob and Diego will try to force you." She hugged him again, fleetingly. "Don't disappear, okay? You are a friend, part of my life, and I want you to be part of Naja's life too. So try to stay put."

Dave nodded, overwhelmed by Suzanne's sincere face and the new life that was growing in her. That child who would soon see the world for the first time, and for whom he already felt a strong affection.

"I expect to receive at least fifty photos, you know that, right?"

Suzanne looked at him with amusement. "Oh, you will get tired of seeing her adorable little face before she is one month old."

Kurt stopped Maddie, taking out his wallet from his Louis Vuitton handbag "Don't even think about it. I invited you." She started to argue, but Kurt silenced her with a hasty gesture. Madeleine pretended to be pouting, and her face took on that slightly childish air that seemed to enchant every man - or woman - who met her.

"Next time you'll thank me with a slice of cheesecake," he told her, when his eyes met Dave's, who responded to the friendly greeting of a pregnant woman who was about to leave the restaurant. He had gained confidence, and Kurt could feel it at a glance.

Dave smiled at him with a nod. There was still a certain shyness in his gaze, though masked by more determined attitudes and a smile devoid of the shadows that haunted him during his early youth.

"Wait for me here," he said, turning to Maddie, without looking her in the eye. He didn't wait for the answer, and went over to Dave, barely avoiding a confrontation with an elderly gentleman, whom he hadn't noticed. His confident expression turned into a slight blush of embarrassment.

"You should be careful where you put your feet," Dave told him with mock reproach, looking for some semblance of complicity. Kurt hoped with all his heart to avoid an embarrassing silence, which is why he smiled at Dave's comment, chasing away the latent discomfort that wanted him to shut himself in.

"I think meeting you surprised me more than I thought. I never imagined you would move to New York."

Dave breathed a sigh of relief, conscious of having avoided a potentially unpleasant situation.

He checked Kurt's bill total, tapping the keys on a cash register. Usually it was Suzanne's job, but Dave had always loved the perfect logic of numbers and equations, so accounting relaxed him.

"I'm still a boy from Lima, deep down. It was an adventure, but I wouldn't change anything." He smiled absently, perhaps losing himself in a pleasant memory. "If someone would've told me years ago that I would move to New York, I would have thought they were crazy, and I would have started to laugh."

Kurt saw Dave looking around with a light of pride in his eyes, as if admiring the place for the first time. He could feel the strong emotional bond that connected him to that place.

"I've been here two or three times, but I've never seen you," Kurt said.

The instant he spoke those words, Kurt saw Dave's face darken, and he cursed himself for saying them. Dave cleared his throat, avoiding Kurt's blue eyes. "I've been away for a while," he sentenced, without going into it. He handed Kurt the receipt, staging a smile that seemed to have lost the naturalness of a few seconds before. "It's thirty-two dollars. Desserts are an offer from the house."

Kurt gave a quick glance, nodding. "Thank you," he said, handing over the banknotes.

The awkward silence they were both afraid of began to appear. Dave bit his lip, and Kurt tried to avoid a direct look.

Dave thought about asking Kurt some frivolous questions, or having some news of Blaine, but the other guy anticipated him, handing a card of a dull and pearly color, with Kurt Hummel on it written in elegant italics. Dave took a few seconds to test the texture between his fingers.

"Vice Director of Fashion Market at Vogue. Impressive." He held back a smile, and hastily wrote his phone number on one of the Sea Pearl's business cards - "Dave K."

He handed it to Kurt, who put it in his wallet. "Oh please, David. You bought a restaurant in New York. I should be the one impressed. "

Dave couldn't hold back an affectionate laugh, perhaps a little nostalgic. Kurt and his father were the only ones to call him David. "It's a nice compliment from you."

Kurt found himself pleasantly struck by that new positivity that seemed to radiate from Dave's face. He was sure that in the right situation, putting aside the past, they could be friends.

"Well deserved compliment," he replied.

Shortly after, he found himself giving a quick glance at his watch, and turned around with a sorry look at Maddie, who was waiting for him standing at the entrance of the restaurant. "I'm in a little hurry right now, but it would be nice to see each other for coffee."

Dave nodded, perhaps with too much excitement. "Great," he said. "I would like that very much."

Kurt offered his hand, and appreciated the other man's firm grip. "It was a pleasure to see you again," he said, before saying goodbye and heading towards Maddie.

Dave took one last look at him, and slipped the business card into his jeans pocket.