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It started with a quest for the perfect birthday present.
For his birthday, Tina had bought him The White Album, on vinyl, and although they had a thirty dollar limit, he was pretty sure she had cheated. He had no idea how he was going to top that, but he had to find something at least equal to it.
So his quest had begun. Blaine had been to what must have been hundreds of shops, but nothing felt right or fell within his price range. Today he was scouting through Chelsea, thanks to a recommendation by his work friend, Lena, who told him of this unusual, cheap, and not overly hipster vintage shop. Blaine glanced down again at the address on his phone and when he looked up, he saw it: a black cat, sitting in the window of a store across the street.
Blaine looked both ways and crossed quickly. By the time he reached the store, the cat had already disappeared inside. He looked up at the sign-- The Bookshelf. The store looked simple, with a casual display in the window, filled with books that looked like new and others that had words scribbled in the margins. Blaine knew Tina liked to read, and hey, maybe he could find her a rare copy of Edgar Allan Poe’s works. It was worth a shot.
The bell tinged above his head as he entered. The store was more incredible from the inside; it felt like he was in a fairytale rather than New York City. The walls were covered in shelves which, incidentally, were full of books. Books filled every inch of space they could, but it managed not to feel overwhelming, but rather cozy. To the left of the door was a large oak desk, where the cash register rested. Beyond the desk, where the window met the wall, but a cushioned bench. And there, sitting upon it, was one of the most handsome men Blaine had ever seen.
The man was curled up, his legs tucked under him, with a book beside him on the bench and a steamy mug of tea in his hand, resting on his thigh. His skin shone in the sunlight, which caught on the highlights in his hair, and his eyelashes fluttered across his cheeks as he read. The cat made his appearance, circling around the bench before jumping up and sitting with the man. He pet him absently before he looked up, eyes meeting Blaine’s and sending a jolt of blue lightning through him. “Can I help you?”
“I’m just—just looking.”
The man smiled and untangled his legs from underneath him. “Of course. If I can help you with anything, let me know.”
Blaine nodded, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth. He swallowed once before pulling his eyes away, turning to face the hundreds of books before him.
He walked along the shelves, feeling the spines of the books as he read their titles. Many of the authors he recognized—Faulkner, Austen, Shakespeare—but most were unfamiliar. Like most stores, the books were organized by genre and subject, but some sections seemed strange: SciFi Romance, Unhappy Ending, Totally Overrated.
“Did you categorize these?” Blaine asked, spinning on his heel.
The man chuckled warmly and walked over, the cat at his heels. “Most of them, unfortunately, I did not. That section,” he pointed over Blaine’s head, at the Totally Overrated sign, “I did.”
Blaine looked to the books, running his fingers over some of them. “Romeo and Juliet, definitely, but The Great Gatsby? Really?”
“It’s one of those novels that everyone has read yet they somehow feel like they’re entitled, or some literary snob if they do,” he tsked. “It’s about the American dream. We get it.”
Blaine found himself smiling in agreement. “When you put it that way…”
“Point proven.” He paused. “Have you read it?”
“Yes, but I also like to consider myself well-read. I’ve read Austen,” he indicated the nearby worn out copy of Pride and Prejudice, “too.”
“Ah. Her works are on a different shelf.” The man didn’t clarify. After a few moments that stretched for hours, their eyes reflecting their hidden smiles, he slowly added, “Are you just browsing or…?”
“Actually,” Blaine said, his tongue feeling lighter than before, “I’m searching for a present for my friend. She used to be into the gothic scene in high school, but I think it’s kind of stuck with her literary tastes…”
“I know just the thing.”
An hour later, Blaine left the store with a copy of Interview with the Vampire, but he also had something worth much more than that: he had a name. Kurt.
Blaine knew he shouldn’t be here, but he had never been one for self-control. As it had last time, the bell dinged above his head when he entered. He found himself looking to the left, and he tried to ignore the sense of disappointment in his chest when he saw no one there.
“Hello!” a sing-song voice rang out from the back. Blaine’s head snapped back and a smile grew on his face as the man, Kurt, stepped into view. “Oh!” Kurt smiled and stopped, staring at Blaine. “Welcome back. Did the book suit her tastes?”
“It did,” Blaine’s feet moved, sweeping across the floor towards Kurt. “She loved it. Apparently she’s always wanted to read it, but has never had the excuse. I actually came in to thank you. She got me an album for my birthday, and I didn’t want my gift to be lame in return.”
Kurt kept smiling, his eyes on Blaine. “There’s no need to thank me but… I did do a good job, so I’ll allow it.” Blaine laughed, a warm happiness bubbling up in his chest when Kurt chuckled back. “Can I help you with anything else? Maybe another birthday approaching?”
The next birthday coming up would be for Sam, and Blaine didn’t think he even knew what a book was. Blaine had initially only stopped by to thank Kurt, or so he told his brain. However, with Kurt looking at him that way, head tilted and the curve of his mouth slightly leaning left-wards, Blaine really didn’t want to leave. “Um. Actually, I could use a book, for myself.”
The mischievous eyebrow raise and slight smirk made Blaine forget about the stack of library books that sat on his bedside table. “Follow me.”
Kurt spun on his heels, and Blaine’s feet clacked across the floor as he swiftly followed. Kurt kept looking over his shoulder to make sure he was following, Blaine assumed. They stopped in front of a shelf near the back and Kurt’s eyes took their time to swoop over Blaine. Blaine watched as Kurt hummed, his fingers dancing in the air above the books before he pulled one out. “For the romantic in you.”
Blaine’s fingers curled around the sides as he read over the title, then laughed. “Gone Girl? You’re joking, right?”
Kurt smiled. “I knew I liked you. Here,” he pulled out another book, and exchanged it with the one in Blaine’s hands. He ignored the flame in his heart, ignited by Kurt’s last comment, as he ran his hand over the title page.
“The Time Traveler’s Wife.” He looked up, amber meeting crystal blue. “I’ve never actually read this before.”
Kurt’s fingers drummed against the shelf, a smug, but pleased, smile on his face. “Mm. I figured you hadn’t. It’s very good. It made me cry, but then again, that’s not quite a feat to do. I’m a sucker for romance.”
“Oh me too,” Blaine sighed happily, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “Although there are only so many Nicholas Spark novels I can read before I feel like my brain is melting out my ears.” The comment earned a laugh from Kurt, and Blaine decided that that was something he wanted to be able to do for as long as he could.
“Then you’ll be pleased with this. Is there anything else I can get for you?”
Unfortunately, there wasn’t, and Blaine had to reluctantly go. They chatted at the till, Blaine commenting on the pin on Kurt’s vest (a rainbow heart) and Kurt replied that he had received it at Pride, after his best friend pushed it upon him, insisting that he needed it. “I love her to bits, but she really doesn’t understand that just because I’m gay, it means that I need to wear my support constantly,” Kurt confided as he typed something into the computer. “But then my boss saw it, and with legalization, she decided it was something the store needed to support, so now I’m stuck with it and Rachel’s stuck with a smirk on her face.” He rolled his eyes at Blaine, and Blaine smiled sympathetically in return.
“Oh. Well, I think it’s cute. If I had seen it at Pride, I would have wanted one, although I’d probably wear it on my bag.”
“See? That’s reasonable.” Kurt slid the book into a bag, and Blaine tried to determine with his eyes whether or not Kurt had read the message he was trying to send. “Here you are, Blaine. I hope you enjoy your book.”
Blaine smiled. “I’m positive I will. Bye Kurt.”
Whether it was because of the book or something more, Blaine started it on the subway home.
Between work and socializing, it took just under two weeks for Blaine to finish the novel. As soon as he had the chance, he was on the subway, heading to the west side again. Only this time, when Blaine walked by, he didn’t see a limb body, curled up in the corner with tea and a cat, his hair perfectly coiffed and glimmering gold in the sun. Instead, he saw an older lady, laughing politely at a younger one in front of the till. Blaine slowed down, and peeked into the store, before his feet kept walking.
He could do without a book for today.
“What about this one?”
Blaine examined the cover, looking for some minor flaw or detail, something to use. “Hmm. It looks too… dense. I want a lighter read today.”
“Blaine,” Kurt lilted, a smile pulling on his lips, “ten minutes ago you said you wanted something intellectual, that will make you think.”
Had he? He needed to keep his lines straight. “Yes…. Um. Something light but… smart. Not a beach read, but not War and Peace either.”
Kurt leaned in, his breath brushing across Blaine’s cheek and curling around his ear. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.” Kurt pulled back with a wink that made Blaine’s stomach flip and his lips press firmly together to hide his grin.
They both knew exactly what Blaine was doing.
“I could always read The Notebook again.”
“I promised you no Sparks, remember?”
“Do you always keep your promises?”
Kurt shot Blaine a look over the ever-growing stack of books. “Only the ones to those who matter.”
Blaine’s lips parted to reply, but before he could, he felt a tickle around his ankles. He looked down, and there was Scout the cat, curling around his feet. “Oh,” he laughed. “Hello.”
Kurt stopped what he was doing and put a hand on his hip before he too was laughing. “I’ve never seen her like this. She must have a crush on you.”
Blaine gaged Kurt’s reaction, but saw nothing but playful teasing. “Hmm.” He bent down, and ran his fingers through her soft fur. “Or maybe she just likes me. Maybe I come here too often.”
“I don’t think you do.” Blaine looked up from the floor, trying to read Kurt’s face, which had suddenly turned away. “Come here too often, I mean.”
Blaine stood, noticing a slightly dash of pink highlighting Kurt’s cheeks. “I like coming here. It’s—it’s my favourite bookstore in Manhattan.”
“It’s mine too, for obvious reasons.”
They shot each other a look and a shy smile before they both returned to sorting through books, searching for the perfect one. After minutes that stretched on in the silence, Kurt sighed in frustration. “Alright, Mister Indecisive. It’s time to bring out the big tools.”
He began to march into the back, not even checking to see if Blaine was following (he was). He led him behind a door marked employees only and carried on through. Blaine looked around, trying not to wonder which coffee mugs were Kurt’s, and which papers carried his name. Kurt stopped suddenly and spun to face Blaine, his expression serious.
“You are not allowed to ever say anything bad about these.”
Blaine turned to where Kurt was pointing, and he saw a small shelf, filled with only a dozen or so books. Compared to the rest of the store, it looked completely bear. He read over the spines, the titles a mix of classics to contemporary to popcultural to romance. Every book was so different, yet they all seemed complimentary, as if they were part of the same picture.
“Kurt,” he whispered, voice soft in the room. “What are these?”
“There are mine.”
Kurt’s nimble fingers pulled one book for the shelf, its pages uniquely dyed green. “Now. This is in no way comparable to the musical, for almost nothing is, but… it’s uniquely beautiful in its own right. Here.” Kurt gently laid the book into Blaine’s hands, and Blaine’s eyes only left Kurt’s to read the title. Wicked. “Now, I expect it back with absolutely no doggy eared corners. It’s my personal edition and part of the reason I got out of Ohio, along with the show.”
Blaine flipped through the pages, the smell of old book and a sweet cologne drifting through the air. He noticed several underlined passages, and his heart skipped knowing that those were words Kurt had underlined, words that had spoken to Kurt, that had meant something to him.
“I… I don’t know what to say.”
“Then don’t say anything except ‘thank you, Kurt,’ and report back to me when you finish.”
“Thank you. So much, Kurt. You don’t know what this means to me.”
Kurt smiled. “It means a lot to me too. Only people Scout likes gets to touch my books,” he leaned in, his hand curving by his mouth as if to tell a secret, “and between you and me, that’s next to nobody. The grumpy old thing.”
Blaine laughed and clutched the book to his chest. “Tell Scout my thanks.”
“Will do. Now get going, I haven’t been able to talk about this book to anyone in years.”
Once again, Blaine wasn’t sure if it was the story or the sweet perfume that was stuck to the pages, but he found that he couldn’t put it down. He zoomed through the novel, and before he knew it, the bell was dinging above his head as he entered The Bookshelf again.
“Kurt?” He asked as soon as he entered, his eyes dashing around the room.
“Well, well, well,” Kurt stepped into the room, smile tugging on his lips. “That was fast.”
“Here.” Blaine pressed the book to Kurt’s chest, their bodies close, maybe too close, but Blaine didn’t care. “It was amazing, Kurt. I had seen the musical, and I love the musical, but this. This! The political undertones, the tragic death of Fiyero, Elphaba’s rejection by society and her undying hope… I felt this story.”
Kurt’s eyes were soft, his smirk pleased. “I’m glad you liked it.”
“Liked? I loved.”
The two men stood together, the word love feeling too heavy, the walls in the room sliding towards them, but Blaine didn’t feel claustrophobic: he felt warm and safe. Their gazes spoke words, sharing the experience of the novel, and the feelings it had evoked in both. But it was more than a novel. Books, Blaine was beginning to realize, were the key to something locked away deep inside a heart; find the book that speaks to you, and you are finding a part of yourself. Sharing a book with someone, then, was handing them the key.
“Listen, I have to go. I actually… I actually stopped by before I go to work.” He indicated his clothing, which was a simple white button up and tie, with black pants. “But I’ll stop by tomorrow and we can chat?”
“I’d love that.”
There it was, the word again, and it sent an automatic smile to Blaine’s face. Their eyes shared another moment before Blaine’s flashed down to the book. Then with a wave and a soft ‘bye,’ he was gone, the only trace of him was on the book Kurt held to his chest; Blaine’s cologne weaving into the pages with his own.
The store got busy for a couple of hours, a welcomed change. Kurt helped them to the best he could, and then it was time to close up shop. He picked up his copy of Wicked, flipped the sign to close, and headed to the back to change then leave.
He placed the book back on his shelf, before curiosity got the best of him and he pulled it back. It hadn’t been until the night he had lent it out to Blaine that he remembered that the sixteen year old version of himself had highlighted several passages, and put comments in the margins. He had wondered if Blaine would do the same, or if he would be too polite to bother. Kurt gave the book a quick flip through, and found himself somewhat disappointed, not relieved, to realize he hadn’t. But then, something had caught his eye. Hidden between two pages was a little slip of white. Kurt pulled it out and read it over before a grin split across his face.
Ten little numbers and words that read “I’d love to get coffee sometime.”
Kurt made him wait, but he didn’t make him wait that long. The phone rang only thrice before a breathless voice answered. “Hello?”
“Could you be any cheesier?”
“Kurt.”
“Hi, Blaine.”
Three and a half years later, Blaine’s proposal is simple.
As soon as the worn down copy of Wicked is pressed to his chest, Kurt’s eyes fill with tears. Blaine stands there smiling, grinning a grin so big it makes his eyes crinkle and water. Kurt smiles at the familiar book, filled with memories not of a sad, lonely boy in Ohio, but of an amber-eyed man with a smile that made Kurt’s heart thump (and still does) and a moment that spoke thousands of words. Kurt flips through the pages, and when the note falls out, Blaine says the words as Kurt reads them. Kurt didn’t even noticed that Blaine had dropped to his knee. Kurt looks at Blaine, and there’s only one thing left to say.
“Yes.”
And when they kiss, tears on their cheeks and smiles curving their mouths, they both know that it is a kiss that would make any Nicholas Sparks novel jealous.