Kurt could hear the rhythmical clicks of Rachel's shoes against the worn wooden floor of their studio apartment. They'd been a gift of sorts from Finn. Marc Jacobs. The real consumer of the gift had been clear the moment she opened the box, but she'd played along nicely and thanked Kurt later in private. Rachel's sense of fashion had improved vaguely since they'd left for New York. It was still far from tasteful, but she had at the very least dropped the reindeer sweaters in an attempt to look more adult. Kurt's fashion sense had changed too, become darker, less flamboyant. He had far from lost interest in clothes, he still had impeccable taste, he'd just toned down the glitter. Since they'd moved they just didn't seem to fit right on him anymore. They were too fake and polished. They reminded him of his old nickname, Porcelain. When Sue had given him the nickname all those years ago he'd quite liked it, but now it seemed frail, breakable, a representation of the things he was trying to put behind him.
He was sitting on the balcony, because Rachel absolutely forbade him from smoking inside. He was lost in thought, the fact that his cigarette had burned half way through without his taking a single drag since the one that lit it seemed lost to him. He was staring intently at the flame eating up the paper and tobacco and thinking about time. The swiftness of it all, their lives burning up like a fuse leading to the inevitable end. The least he could hope for was going out with a bang. He knew he was shortening his own limited timespan with this very habit, but what's a few years, really? If you compare it to the age of this earth, even the potential age of this very building, it was no more than a blink, a small breeze. Kurt Hummel blowing by, touching the treetops and the buildings and the people for the briefest second, leaving nothing but a ruffle of the leafs behind.
A searing pain brought him back to earth. The cigarette had burned all the way down to its filter and the flame was on his fingertip. He flicked the remaining stub of the edge of the balcony and contemplated lighting another one, this time to actually smoke it, but the cold New York air made him decide against it.
"Aren't you freezing out there? Don't you think you should just kick the habit?" Rachel said as a form of greeting. Kurt just smirked at her. He was well aware that Rachel disapproves of his smoking, and Rachel was well aware that he frankly didn't give a fuck what she thinks. "Our timetables are up. Coffee?"
Kurt accepted the cup from her with mumbled thanks. Her coffee wasn't near the quality of any New York coffee house, but it was warm in his hands and with their current budget the least of their concerns was the quality of coffee. Things would ease up come summer, when their heating needs would be drastically decreased.
Kurt settled in the ugly but comfortable red chair. None of their furniture matched, pieces picked up at flea markets and borrowed from friendly relatives and neighbors. This particular piece of hideous furniture belonged to Rachel's older brother Blaine, who was working as a teacher in NYADA. In fact most of their furniture belonged to Blaine, who hadn't had the heart to throw out the stuff, having borrowed it from their grandfather who died before he got a chance to return it. It was a win-win situation for everyone, with the obvious exception of Rachel's grandfather. Kurt opened his laptop, old and worn but still functioning, and typed in the address for the NYADA school webpage. The site took several minutes to load and another couple to sign him in, but after much waiting and frustrated glaring at the screen Kurt was able to view his time table. A quick scan of the subject list and time plan left him satisfied, even pleased. It could easily have been much worse; he could even sleep in on Tuesdays. This was going to be a good year.