Until the day he died, at a ripe and frankly astonishing old age, Kurt Anderson kept two secrets. One, which he kept so silent that nobody ever suspected a thing, was that "Anderson" was not his given name. The other was that he had an astonishingly vivid memory. This latter secret was evident, in a way. Kurt had made a name for himself in vaudeville and, later, the movies, because of his classically compelling good looks, wide range of emotions, even wider vocal range, and his skill at memorization. That was how he'd risen from the penniless dregs who often filtered through the casting offices in 20's-era Hollywood, when he'd rolled into California with nothing but the clothes on his back, and a worldly, almost haunted look in his eyes that would captivate the nation in his later years.

Oh, and a priceless gem that half the world would frantically search for over the next eight decades, but that's somewhat irrelevant right now.

What Kurt had was a quick, razor-sharp mind, that could absorb a script and turn the two-dimensional words into three-dimensional emotion and passion. A mind that could take in the sight of a room and remember the smallest details. A mind that could recall the precise golden-brown color of someone's eyes, the way dark curls fanned across a high brow, the planes and contours of jaw and cheek and neck under tentative fingertips. A mind that could keep an ocean of secrets safe and sound for an entire lifetime.

It had been eighty-five years since Kurt Hummel-Sylvester had sailed on the most famous doomed ocean liner of all time, and he could still smell the fresh paint.

is this thing on? is anyone still here? helloooo?

yes, it's been two years. no, i'm not still writing for the KH fandom. yes, i'm writing for that wonderful and mysterious monster known as the glee fandom.

yay me?

EDIT: just kidding, i'm going to keep posting here~

ALSO this was thoroughly inspired by a post/fic on tumblr by "quinnfabrayissohotrightnow". i just decided to switch the roles.