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“He’s back.” Kurt looked up from wiping down the bar at Santana’s sing-song drawl, eyes darting over to the door just in time to see someone enter. Anyone would have been a welcome distraction at that point – there were only two people in the whole bar at 7:30pm on a Monday night – but Kurt felt himself get unexpectedly excited to see a familiar head of dark, overly gelled hair appear in the entranceway. As usual, the man was well dressed in a fitted pair of dress pants, a button down shirt with a subtle, but interesting pattern, and a perfectly coordinated, neatly tied bowtie. The man’s eyes remained downcast as he pushed through the door, fingers flying over the keys of his blackberry. The man didn’t look up for even a moment as he made his way through the room to what had become his usual spot in the back corner along the bar itself. He fitted himself carefully into the narrow space between the bar and the wall, propped his messenger bag against the wall, and continued typing furiously.
Rather than continue to stare at one of his only customers, Kurt busied himself by wiping down the bar and organizing the glasses in the back. When he heard that the clacking of blackberry buttons had ceased, Kurt turned towards the man with an inquisitive eyebrow raise, one hand poised in front of a glass. As he expected, the man’s lips turned upwards in a little smile of greeting and pulled out his earphones, hitting pause on his iPod. “Malibu and coke please.” Kurt nodded once, grabbed a glass, and proceeded to mix the same drink that the man had ordered every Monday and Wednesday for the past month.
“Tab tonight?” Kurt asked, placing the drink on top of a coaster in front of the man.
The man smiled, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. “Thank you, but no. I still prefer to pay as I go. Six, right?”
“That’s right,” Kurt confirmed with a smile, accepting the man’s ten dollar bill and reaching into his apron for change.
“Keep it,” the man waved him off with another small smile and a shrug. Without another word, the man propped a book up on the counter to the page carefully marked with a whimsical looking dolphin bookmark. Kurt managed to catch his eye before the man descended entirely into his book, smiling and nodding gratefully at the surprising tip.
“And there he goes,” Santana rolled her eyes as she leaned over the bar at the opposite end, not even bothering to lower her voice.
Kurt let out a sigh and made his way down to Santana. “I really wish you wouldn’t talk about him so loudly,” he chastised her lightly. “You never know if he can hear us over the music in here. Better not to insult our regulars.”
Santana made a show of thinking it over for a moment, complete with pursed lips and fingers stroking a non-existent goatee, before shaking her head in exasperation. “Four weeks now, he comes in twice a week to sit and stare at that book, or scribble in that notebook and not talk to a single person for hours. I wish I could be more annoyed, but at least he tips well.”
Kurt rolled his eyes. “Go check on our other customers, please,” he said, nodding towards the couple in the back, who had been trying to catch Santana’s attention for a few minutes now. The little bell above the front door dinged a few times as Santana pushed herself off the bar and straightened her apron. “And maybe you could greet some of these new customers as well.”
“Bout time,” Santana grumbled before turning and plastering on her service smile. Kurt followed her lead, seamlessly transitioning from snarky friend into a flawless server, eyes sweeping across the bar and staying ahead of the increasing crowd of people all jockeying for drinks. He worked steadily, but even as he ensured to let his eyes sweep over the crowd in front of the bar so as not to miss anybody, Kurt kept an eye on his quiet regular in the corner. Though he’d never admit it to Santana, he was keenly aware of the man’s every move, so much so that he almost did a double take when the man looked up from his book for the first time and inclined his head towards Kurt with a inviting lift of his eyebrows.
Kurt had to almost physically restrain himself from just dropping the bottle of tequila he was currently pouring into a tumbler to serve his regular, but he managed to finish off the drink with a flourish, and get a generous tip in the process. With a quick smile of thanks towards that customer, Kurt excused himself and moved down the bar to where his favorite regular was sitting, hands folded neatly over his book, bookmark securely in place. “What can I get you?” Kurt asked in his professional voice, masking his surprise as they ventured into new territory – Kurt had never actually seen his regular look up so definitively from his book before, even to order a new drink.
“Another Malibu and coke please,” the man said with a warm smile, chuckling at Kurt’s apparently not so subtle sigh. “I know,” he said, raising his hands up defensively, “it’s not too creative. But it is my favorite.”
“Happy to oblige,” Kurt smiled back, taking the glass from the man’s outstretched hand, swapping it out for a new one with fresh ice, and reaching for the proper bottles. He purposefully placed himself close to the corner, hoping that it would encourage the man to continue chatting. He wasn’t disappointed.
“How long have you been playing show-tunes in here?” The question caught Kurt off guard, and he almost let the glass overflow with coke. “You just don’t see many places that have Broadway on as the background music,” his regular explained further, presumably misattributing Kurt’s surprise to his question.
“I understand,” Kurt replied with a reassuring smile, placing three cherries in the glass and sliding it back to the man. “It’s been all show-tunes for a while now. Started about two and a half years ago, about six months after I began working here.”
“Thanks,” his regular said, claiming his drink and taking a long sip. “You make the best drinks.” As he rifled through his wallet, he commented, “I love it, it makes this place so unique. Very rare that you get someone brave enough to ignore the top 40 in favor of Ahrens and Flaherty. Though, personally I prefer the latter.”
Kurt’s eyes widened in excitement at his regular’s display of musical knowledge. “I thought it would be a nice touch,” he nodded and smiled in agreement.
“Oh, that was you!” The man exclaimed happily, placing a ten dollar bill on the bar in front of him. “That’s what got me to come in the first time – I heard Anastasia playing from outside and just had to come in for a drink. I’m Blaine, by the way.”
“Kurt. It’s a pleasure to finally put a name to the face,” Kurt replied, reaching over the counter to shake Blaine’s hand.
“So tell me, Kurt,” Blaine leaned in conspiratorially, “how’d you do it? How’d you get them to change the music?”
“A lot of hard work and campaigning,” Kurt acknowledged. “It took me less than two weeks for me to get sick of the same top 40 songs, and so I started to ask the manager if we could change it up. It took about six months of suggestions, hints, proposals for how it could help business until he finally….” He trailed off when he saw a sudden motion in the corner of his eye. Looking over his shoulder, he started at the new crowd of people leaning on the bar, waving for his attention. “I’m so sorry, I have to take care of that,” Kurt waved vaguely behind him to demonstrate. “I’ve been totally neglecting my duties. Pleasure to meet you, Blaine.”
“Likewise,” Blaine smiled back. As Kurt turned away, he could see Blaine push his book aside in favor of a small moleskine notebook. Kurt used the mirror across from the bar to surreptitiously watch Blaine chew on the tip of his pen as he scribbled lines across the page. He tore his eyes away from the mirror as foam started to run over his fingers around a glass, and forced himself to focus on his job, lest the customers get frustrated and head down the street to another bar. Unfortunately, by the time he caught a glimpse of the corner of the bar again, Blaine was making his way through a throng of well dressed men, ignoring each and every interested look in favor of making it to some empty space by the door. Just before he pushed his way out the door, their eyes met and Blaine raised a hand in farewell before disappearing out into the night air.
*****
“He’s annoyingly consistent,” Santana drawled three weeks later, as Blaine pushed through the door of the bar on Monday evening at 7:30pm on the dot.
As had become his new routine, he smiled widely at Kurt as he made his way back to his usual corner, not even waiting to put his bag down on the floor before saying, “Hey Kurt, Santana. How’re you doing tonight?”
“Just fine Dapper Dan,” Santana replied without a moment’s hesitation. “Another day, another shift here.”
“I’m doing well, Blaine,” Kurt said deliberately, shooting Santana a withering stare before making his way into the back corner. “How was your weekend?” Kurt reached underneath the bar for the bottle of Malibu that he had begun purposefully stashing close to Blaine’s usual seat in order to save himself time. It had taken a week of frustrated calls from the other bartenders, asking him where the Malibu was being hidden, but the rest of the staff seemed to finally accept the Malibu’s new storage space.
“Not bad, not bad,” Blaine replied, arranging his notebook, book of the week, and phones on the counter in front of him. “Had to work for most of Saturday, but I got my part finished that night, so I still got to have Sunday for myself.”
“Sorry you had to work on Saturday.” Kurt pushed the drink towards Blaine, sympathetic to the plight of having to work extra hours at odd times. He waved Blaine off when he held out the usual ten dollar bill to pay for the drink. “Don’t worry about it. Really,” he insisted, when Blaine hesitated, his hand still outstretched between them.
When he refused to accept the ten, Blaine shrugged, swapped out the ten for a five dollar bill, and placed it on the counter in front of him. “For you, then.”
Knowing when he had been bested, Kurt inclined his head in thanks, accepting the bill and placing it in his apron. “Thank you.”
“Anything for my favorite bartender.” With another warm smile, Blaine picked up a pen and redirected his attention to his notebook, cutting Kurt off from further conversation. With a mental shrug, Kurt moved back towards the middle of the bar and leaned against the cabinets behind him, looking out over the small crowd of people occupying the tables and booths around the room. It was relatively busy for so early, but the customers that day gravitated towards table service, rather than milling about the bar itself, leaving him with some welcome quiet time before the rush.
As Santana handed over a list of drink orders for a large party in the back, he heard the overhead music shift to the title song of the Sound of Music. With a wide smile, Kurt allowed himself the luxury of singing quietly along with the soundtrack, following Julie Andrew’s unmatchable vocals with joy as he spun around the back of the bar. He mixed each drink to the beat of the song, timing his pours to match each note of the solfeggio that Maria taught the Von Trapp children and imagining himself running through the streets of Austria with them. He was so caught up in this fantasy that he almost didn’t notice Blaine staring at him, his notebook lying upside down, abandoned on the counter. Kurt flushed a deep red and stopped dead in his tracks until he saw Blaine’s encouraging expression, as if he was waiting for Kurt to finish his performance.
Despite his many years of training, Kurt felt the beginnings of stage fright setting in, raising a feeling of self-consciousness that he had not experienced since graduating from NYADA years before. It was only when he saw, more than heard, Blaine’s voice seamlessly picking up the words of the song that his feet unstuck from their spot, twirling him on the spot as he regained the use of his voice for the end of the song.
“Any day now!” Santana’s impatience cut through Kurt’s high in the moments just after the song had ended, and making him look away from where his eyes had been locked onto Blaine’s for what had probably been too long. At least she had waited for his triumphant last note in the song, Kurt mused as he gathered her drinks onto a single tray for her to carry over to her table. One quick glance around the bar confirmed that no one had really paid attention to his jaunt behind the counter; well, no one except for Blaine, who had stood up from his seat and soundlessly applauded Kurt for his efforts. From anyone else, Kurt might bristle at the implied sarcasm in silent applause, but the earnest and genuine smile that lit up Blaine’s face simply made him blush again and do a small, but theatrical, bow in appreciation.
When Kurt saw Blaine’s head incline slightly, he made his way to the corner, and raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Do you mind watching my stuff for a minute, Kurt?” Blaine gestured to the neat pile of phones and books on the counter, and then down to his bag on the floor. “I wanted to run to the bathroom, but didn’t want to just leave my things.”
“Of course,” Kurt reassured him without a second thought. “I’ll make sure everything is safe here.”
“Thanks!” Blaine practically bounced with energy as he danced his way down the stairs towards the bathrooms, ignoring the curious looks from people along his way. Kurt kept an eye on Blaine’s belongings as he continued to serve drinks from that end of the bar, and suddenly noticed a piece of crumpled paper that had fallen to the floor. He reached down to collect the small paper, smoothing out the wrinkles to find that it had almost certainly come from Blaine’s little moleskine.
Kurt’s eyes swept across the paper, taking in what looked like either song lyrics or poetry written carefully along the left margin in small, precise lettering. “Oh.” Kurt looked up when he heard Blaine’s surprised voice from across from him, feeling suddenly guilty, as if he had been flipping through Blaine’s private thoughts. “It must have fallen out of my bag when I took out my blackberry.”
“I’m sorry, I found it on the floor and wanted to make sure that it wasn’t anything important —” Kurt trailed off, eyes returning to the paper in front of him. “Did you write this?”
Blaine shifted his weight from leg to leg, his arms crossing over his chest protectively. “Um, yeah…but it’s not any good, mostly just random thoughts. It’s why I ripped it out — it’s not worth keeping in here, it’s not coming out right. It’s silly, I know.”
“Silly?” Kurt replied incredulously, fingers still smoothing out the wrinkles in the paper. “Not at all. This is really good. Like, really good. And if you think this is some of your worst, I’d love to see what else you have going on in that notebook.”
“You don’t have to say that,” Blaine waved off the compliment, settling himself back into his stool.
“Yeah, I know that.” Kurt moved closer than he had ever dared before, nearly leaning over the bar to meet Blaine’s gaze. “I’m an actor, I look at lyrics and scripts every day. You have no idea the crappy audition songs I’ve had to perform. This is better. Even incomplete, I can tell.” At Blaine’s skeptical expression, Kurt sighed, placing the paper on top of the pile of books. “Just, don’t throw it out yet. Even if you do later, it’s worth keeping works in progress to see if they end up turning into something you like. You never know.”
With that, Kurt turned back away to continue doing his job, heading back down the bar to greet some new customers. He did manage to sneak a look over his shoulder, and smiled to himself as he saw Blaine’s hands settle on top of the paper, further smoothing out the edges before he folded it up and placed it carefully inside the journal again.
*****
“I can’t see anything,” Rachel complained, propping herself up on the bar as she squinted across the room. “Why is it so dark in here all the time?”
“Because it’s a bar, Rachel,” Kurt informed her for the umpteenth time, rolling his eyes. “People don’t like it if the lights are bright and they can see everything clearly. It’s called ambiance.”
“Yeah, well that ambiance is keeping me from seeing your future husband over there.” Rachel pouted, plopping back into her seat with a loud hmph.
“And here I thought you came to see me,” Kurt snarked back, hands almost moving of their own accord as they mixed some kamikaze shots for a group of guys standing in front of him.
“Sweetie, you’re my roommate, I see you every day. I don’t need to come bother you at work to see you.” Rachel leaned forward again, her small torso almost entirely over the bar as she tried to peer across the room. “Ugh, if he would just look up from that notebook, I might have a better shot. All I can see now is a dark shape with dark hair.”
“He does that,” Kurt confirmed, without even needing to look down to where Blaine was sitting. “Always comes in alone at the same time – 7:30 on Mondays, after 9:00 on Wednesdays. Doesn't talk to anyone, or meet anyone here, just puts his nose in a book or starts scribbling in that notebook of his.”
“He talks to you,” Rachel pointed out.
“And Santana,” Kurt conceded, turning away for a moment to swipe a credit card and prepare someone’s bill.
“And he always leaves alone?” Rachel asked incredulously.
“At least for the past few months, since he started coming in. I guess I don’t even really know if he’s gay.”
Rachel scoffed. “He’s a regular at a gay bar in the West Village, by himself. Not something straight men do, typically.”
“Even so,” Kurt shrugged, wiping his hands off on a towel and leaning against the back wall, near Rachel’s stool. “I just don’t trust my gay-dar anymore.” He ran his hands over his face dejectedly. “I am so bad at this.”
“Oh, honey, no one is good at this, we just have more practice,” Rachel tried to sooth him, running one hand up and down his arm. “Once you get yourself a real boyfriend, you’ll figure it out. It’ll be easy.”
“So they say,” Kurt sighed, straightening up as he saw a guy around his age waving for his attention. “Hold that thought.” He made his way down the bar, stopping a few steps away from Blaine’s spot in the corner to acknowledge the attractive man in horrible pink shorts. “What can I get you?”
“Jameson rocks for me, and whatever that guy is drinking,” the man said, slightly too loudly, pointing into the corner in Blaine’s direction.
“Do you mean the man in the corner, or the man on the end there?” Kurt asked, his heart falling slightly as he prayed that the man didn’t mean Blaine.
“The one in the corner,” the man yelled back with a too-wide smile. “Yum-my!”
“Coming right up,” Kurt replied, without any enthusiasm, reaching under the bar for two glasses to start preparing the drinks. He toyed momentarily with the thought of making Blaine’s drink with Diet Coke, rather than regular Coke, before abandoning that thought as needlessly petty. Even having decided not to be petty, Kurt handed the drinks over the pink shorts guy without adding any cherries to Blaine’s glass. He couldn’t stomach the idea of making his usual perfect drink for another man to hand over. “That’ll be twelve.” The man dropped a pile of bills on the bar, right into a puddle of condensation, and unceremoniously grabbed the drinks.
Kurt immediately picked up the cash from the bar, a well-practice maneuver born out of too many tips gone missing over the years, but kept one eye on the man as he made his way into the corner towards Blaine. When the man reached Blaine and handed the drink over, Kurt felt comfortable enough to look down, flip through the cash, and pocket the man’s tip of a single dollar. Eyes wide, Blaine accepted the drink, and shot Kurt a concerned glance, as if seeking confirmation. It took all of Kurt’s internal strength and well-practiced non-reactions to having his hopes dashed in a single blow to smile at Blaine and nod, hopefully reassuring him that the drink was safe.
Seemingly mollified, Blaine turned back to pink-shorts guy with a small smile, cheeks red, and pushed his notebook entirely aside in favor of starting a conversation. Swallowing heavily, Kurt scanned across the bar, hoping someone would need another drink and, seeing that everyone seemed happy for the moment, then proceeded down to where Rachel was sitting. “He lifted his head, happy now?”
“He’s cute,” Rachel offered with a small smile. When Kurt didn’t respond, Rachel wrinkled her nose in distaste. “That guy has nothing on you. No competition.”
“Can’t be a competition if only one person is playing,” Kurt sighed, banging his head slightly against the wall behind him. “Ah well, the better to focus on other things.”
“How’d your audition go?” Rachel asked, blessedly picking up on his attempt to change the subject.
“Good actually,” Kurt said, brightening slightly at the memory. “It’s only a few weeks of work, a small kind of avant-garde thing, but I think I’m perfect for the role. I nailed the audition, so fingers crossed.”
“It’d be nice to see you on stage again!” Rachel said supportively, clapping her hands together excitedly.
“Yeah, I’m really hoping ---” Kurt trailed off as his gaze once again fell on Blaine and pink shorts guy, who were still talking, “---it’ll work out,” he finished half heartedly. “I, um, need to get back to…” Kurt gestured lamely over his shoulder to the rest of the bar, and walked away from Rachel before she could respond. Luckily for him, at that moment a whole crowd of people pushed through the door together, inundating the bar with requests for drinks. Kurt worked steadily filling orders, steadfastly not paying attention the corner of his eye, where Blaine was still chatting with that guy.
That being said, he noticed quite quickly when Blaine stood up, carefully stashing his belongings in his shoulder bag. Kurt nodded in his direction before he could swing the bag onto his back and smiled as he said, “Have a good night, Blaine.”
Blaine paused, hand gripping the strap of his bag, poised to pick it up at any minute. “You as well, Kurt.” Kurt grabbed the empty glass from pink shorts guy and stopped short when he saw that Blaine’s glass was still entirely full. Kurt raised an eyebrow curiously at Blaine, lifting the glass that was brimming with Malibu and coke. “Not worth it without the cherries,” Blaine explained with a wide smile and a wink. “Thanks again, Kurt.”
Heart feeling ever so slightly lighter at Blaine’s vaguely encouraging words, Kurt emptied the glass into the sink behind him and wiped down the bar where Blaine had been sitting, watching as Blaine, once again, walked out alone into the night.
*****
And then he disappeared. Kurt wouldn’t say he was waiting for Blaine to appear on Wednesday night, just around nine, but when Blaine didn’t show up, it struck him as odd. Even more odd when Blaine didn’t make it to the bar the follow Monday either. By the time three weeks had passed, Kurt had almost stopped looking for his usual dapper regular in the corner, figuring whatever phase Blaine had been going through had officially ended. So, it didn’t surprise him when Monday arrived once again and Blaine failed to push through the door at exactly 7:30.
But that didn’t mean he didn’t notice a familiar gelled head make its way around the bar hours later, after 10:30pm, to the seat in the corner that had been serendipitously vacated moments earlier. Blaine moved slower than usual, shuffling his steps and hunching his shoulders so he barely needed to stoop to drop his bag unceremoniously next to his stool. Kurt almost did a double take when Blaine raised his head to order – his eyes were bloodshot and sunken in, ringed with dark circles, his usually impeccably tied bowtie was askew and messy, and his face held a miserable expression that was entirely out of character with the usually bubbly and contented man he was used to. “Shot of tequila, please,” Blaine rasped in a flat voice, sinking onto the stool and lacing his fingers through his hair, unseating the gel and making his hair stand up in all directions.
“Ah, it’s that kind of day.” Kurt nodded sympathetically, pushing the shot and a lime wedge over to Blaine.
“That kind of month, more like it,” Blaine said angrily, downing the shot in one gulp, not even touching the lime wedge. “Another, please.”
Eyebrows raised in surprise, Kurt obliged, pouring the shot directly into Blaine’s abandoned glass. Not one second after he tilted the bottle upward, Blaine had already done the second shot, shaking his head slightly and coughing at the burn. Still, the lime wedge remained untouched. “Maybe slow down a little there?” Kurt offered tentatively, not wanting to set Blaine off.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right, you’re right” Blaine verbally agreed, though his expression and tone indicated the exact opposite. His arm suddenly shot up, pointing sharply at the other end of the bar. “That guy wants your attention.”
“Thanks,” Kurt asked, more than replied, almost backing away from Blaine as he headed down the bar to take care of the other customer. Even as he mixed the man a drink, he kept one eye on Blaine, whose fingers tapped insistently and in no particular rhythm on the counter top. On a whim, Kurt scanned through the bottles on the back shelf of the bar, pulling out three and preparing a drink that he had discovered recently that both packed an extra punch and had what he thought might be a particularly appropriate name. “Suffering Bastard?” he presented the drink to Blaine with a wry smile, doing jazz hands behind the glass after placing it on the bar.
To his surprise and pleasure, Blaine’s angry, exhausted expression softened momentarily as he laughed, almost involuntarily. “I’m sorry?”
“Suffering bastard. Gin, bourbon, lime juice, bitters, and ginger liqueur with ice. Not your usual sweet drink, but it does the trick, and doesn't taste like battery acid. Recent favorite of mine when I need to not think about things for a while.”
“Oh yeah?” Blaine challenged, even as he took a sip. “Like when?”
Kurt didn’t pause for even a moment before replying. “Like when I’m perfect for a part and I get all the way to the final round and they just give it away to this other guy who could not possibly do it as well as I could. Like when that guy happens to be my arch nemesis who I wish would just fall in a hole and stay there forever so he wouldn’t bother me anymore.”
“Fall in a hole?” Blaine asked incredulously, a hint of a smile in his voice. “That’s the worst you can do?”
Kurt sighed, leaning against the wall behind the bar to better explain. “Well I can’t wish for him to die, can I? Enough crap happens in this world that I don’t want to be going around wishing death on people. And like, if I wish an STD or horrifically bad disease or wardrobe on him, he might hurt other people. Or I’d have to see his horrific wardrobe every day. But if he’s in a hole, then he can’t beat me at any auditions, the world is spared from interacting with him, and I never have to think about him again. And I bet he’d be pretty unhappy without people to show off for. Best case scenario all around.”
Blaine stared at him for a moment, jaw slightly slack in shock, before he burst out in genuine laughter. “That is…brilliant.” Blaine marveled, after he had caught his breath. “Can I add someone to the hole with him?”
“Sure,” Kurt agreed easily, pleased to see that the dark shadow on Blaine’s face had retreated ever so slightly. He checked his watch before adding, “My shift is actually up in ten minutes. If you want, I’d be happy to hear about the person we’re adding to the hole. Just to make sure we don’t need to make any alterations of course.”
“Of course,” Blaine repeated, attempting lightheartedness, even as his face fell again to a deep frown. “I wouldn’t want to keep you…”
“Not at all,” Kurt waved him off before Blaine could finish his thought. “I’m always a little hyped up after my shift ends anyway, so I go into the coat check area that no one uses during the summer to unwind. I’ll even bring a bottle with me, if you want.”
“Yeah, okay, that actually sounds great.” Blaine nodded slowly, fingers resuming their anxious tapping on the bar.
Kurt watched him for a minute before adding, “You could head up there now, if you want. No need to sit around down here with all the noise and the crowds just because my shift isn’t over yet.”
“Really?” Blaine asked, a hint of both desperation and hope in his tone.
“Sure,” Kurt shrugged. “Just don’t steal anything or break anything. Tell Santana I sent you and she’ll let you up the back staircase. It’s the first door on the right – it’ll be open this time of year cause no one has coats or anything. It’s pretty small, but it’s clean and quiet. I’ll meet you up there in ten minutes or so.”
“Thank you,” Blaine breathed out, fumbling with his wallet as he stood up.
“No need.” Kurt waved him off again, putting one hand on the wallet to prevent Blaine from searching further. “Really,” he insisted, at Blaine’s look, “bad days are on me.”
Blaine flattened his lips into a half smile, half grimace in thanks, lifted his bag onto his hunched shoulders, and made his way through the crowds to the back of the bar. Santana caught Kurt’s eye as Blaine spoke to her, and he nodded and sent her a thumbs up to confirm that she should send him upstairs.
In spite of the crowds of people lining the bar, jockeying for drinks, the next fifteen minutes stretched out almost eternally. Kurt had to stop himself from outwardly cheering when Kevin, the late night bartender, showed up to relieve him. Kurt forced himself to give Kevin his usual run down, reminding him which orders and tabs were outstanding, to wash his hands behind the bar, fold up his apron and walk, not run, up the stairs to the coat check room.
The coat check room was silent, but for the noise of the bar drifting up the back stairway, and Kurt cringed when the door creaked loudly as he pushed it open. The lights were off, but he could see Blaine easily, illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the open window. Blaine was sitting quietly up on the ledge by the window, arms tucked tightly around his legs, back pressed against the wall behind him, and head resting lightly between his raised knees. He didn’t move as Kurt made his way through the room, not even looking up as Kurt pushed himself up to join Blaine on the windowsill. Kurt settled opposite Blaine, his back pressed against the wall as well and legs stretched straight out across the outer edge of the windowsill, feet resting lightly against Blaine’s hip.
They sat in silence for another minute, before Kurt finally said quietly, “You stole my favorite seat.”
Blaine raised his head, lips turning up in an almost smile as he opened his eyes. “That’s cause this ledge is the perfect shape to sit on.”
“Well, at least we can share it,” Kurt acquiesced, smiling warmly across at Blaine, nudging him slightly with his left foot.
Blaine rewarded him with a small smile before exhaling heavily and leaning his head back against the wall. Kurt waited a few minutes silently, leaving Blaine an opportunity to speak first to frame the conversation. When it became apparent that was not going to happen, Kurt ventured, “So, tell me about this person who will be sharing a hole with Sebastian the weasel.”
Without raising his head or opening his eyes, Blaine replied, “His name is Hunter – he’s a mid level associate at my firm.”
“Ah, so you’re a lawyer,” Kurt deduced. "That explains the blackberry."
“Right, sorry,” Blaine apologized quickly. “I forget that you don’t know things – I feel like I know you so well, but we never actually talk about my work.”
“I figured it was either lawyer or some kind of finance job from the Blackberry,” Kurt explained, “but I didn’t know for sure. And that kind of thing happens to me often – I talk to people for months without knowing basic information about them. Like, what’s your last name?”
“Anderson,” Blaine said, sitting up slightly and opening his eyes.
“Well hello, Blaine Anderson,” Kurt replied, extending a hand solemnly between them. “Kurt Hummel, nice to officially meet you.”
“It is my pleasure, Kurt Hummel.” Blaine took his hand in a firm handshake, his face betraying his amusement at the formality.
“So you were saying about Hunter,” Kurt prompted, ensuring to keep Blaine talking before he retreated back into his own head.
“Right.” Blaine’s face fell once again, his expression hardening into a mix of anger and defeat. “He’s a sixth year associate, only four years senior to me, but he’s the most senior person on this case after the partner and so kind of my boss. And he’s been making my life a living hell for the last month, since he joined the case team.”
“How so?”
Blaine took a deep breath to steady himself as he seemed to consider the answer. “So this team we’re on is preparing for trial, which is always a really crazy time. I expect to work long hours, it’s part of the job. Especially on a trial team. But I believe in having free time outside of the office – time to relax, or see friends, or come to the bar, or even to do some gigs singing, when I can find the time. I figured out early on that if I don’t have a thing scheduled outside of work, I’d never have any time for myself. So I put up flyers in my neighborhood offering to give local kids piano lessons and a lot of people responded. And now, every week on Saturday afternoons I spend a few hours teaching kids how to play the piano.”
“But Hunter doesn't believe in free time. He does nothing but work. He’s never said it explicitly, but it’s clear he’s gunning to be a partner at our firm, and seems to think the way to achieve that is to just work constantly. Like, he seems to create assignments that may, theoretically, become useful in the future to ensure that everything is perfect for the partners.”
“Your perspective sounds a lot more sane and balanced to me,” Kurt offered when Blaine paused to take a breath. “You’ve got to have some sort of life outside of your job or you’d go crazy.”
“I know that’s right,” Blaine said sadly, “but it’s just not the way lawyers think. There’s so much guilt in this job if you dare to leave the office before 6:00pm on a weekday, and an expectation that you’re just going to work every weekend. And for guys like Hunter, they just live their lives that way and it seems to make him happy. I can’t live like that. It does help that I have zero interest in being a partner at my firm.”
“Really?” Kurt asked, surprised. “Why work at the law firm then?”
“It’s the best training ground,” Blaine explained, his posture loosening ever so slightly as he talked. “Spend a few years working at a big firm like mine and you are set for almost any other job in the legal profession. Though, to be honest, I’m not even sure I want to pursue a job in the legal profession ultimately.”
“What would you do instead?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Blaine said dreamily. “Write, probably. Maybe songwriting, or maybe I’d branch out and try writing a musical. Maybe teach – I’ve always thought I’d be a good, full-time music teacher.”
Kurt wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion, head cocked to one side as he tried to puzzle out the man sitting in front of him. “So…” he started, before shaking his head and changing thoughts mid-sentence, “…but then why go to law school?”
Blaine shrugged. “I like it. I find the law intellectually interesting, and I wanted the opportunity to do some good for the world. I wanted to help promote LGBT rights and protect LGBT youth who are forced to live on the streets or live in poverty because they aren’t accepted. I wanted to help struggling artists who get scammed into selling away their best works without retaining any of the rights. I wanted to change the conversation in this country to focus more on education and making sure that every kid gets the best chance they can. And the best way to do that is through law. I just wonder sometimes if I’m better off working to change lives on a smaller scale, rather than attempting to affect the course of political discourse in this country.”
“Wow.” Kurt stared, eyes wide at the big ideas coming from the small man sitting across from him. “I respect that.”
“Thanks,” Blaine replied with a genuine smile. “Unfortunately, some people in my profession, particularly people who work at firms, are not so accepting of big ideas – they’re more focused on making sure that they advance through the ranks to become one of the people in power who brings in the most money for the firm. Meaning they work all the time and don’t respect those of us who chose to have a life.”
“What did Hunter do?” Kurt asked, bringing the conversation back to where it began.
Blaine exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw setting angrily. “It started about a month ago, when I left work around 7:00pm to come here the last time I was here on a Monday. That’s relatively early for some people, but has been manageable for me so far, so I make it work. He didn’t like it. The next day, he tells me that I need to spend more time applying myself and doing my best work because what I had given him was not sufficient. Of course, I apologize and tell him that I will make sure to step it up in the future. And then on Friday, we’re planning on how to divide the work up for the weekend among team members, and I mention that I am not available Saturday afternoon because of the piano lessons, but would make sure to work the rest of the weekend if need be. He then launches into this rant, in front of the entire team, about how we all need to apply ourselves more, and we all need to understand how important this case is, and if we all don’t start getting our work done, we will be taken off the team.”
Kurt stared in shock, jaw slack, at Blaine. “In front of everyone?”
“Yup.” Blaine replied bitterly. “I barely held it together. But even after all that, I didn’t cave – I worked the whole weekend, except for the four hours on Saturday afternoon that I had the piano lessons. Those kids rely on me, and I didn’t want to just leave them without any notice. Turns out Hunter didn’t take to that too kindly. He didn’t have me removed from the team, but he kept piling work upon work on top of me, so I ended up billing over 250 hours this month. And then he made me revise all of my work endlessly because he has ZERO faith that it was done right. And I just found out today that he’s been having a first year go over everything I’ve done and cite checking it because he doesn’t believe that I’m doing it right, even after I’ve double and triple checked. Which is not only humiliating and insulting, but a total waste of time and our client’s money.”
“I think Hunter deserves his own pit,” Kurt said, eyes still wide from the wholly justified barrage of bitterness and anger coming from Blaine. “I may hate Sebastian because he’s a little weasel who steals all of my parts despite being significantly less talented, but this is a whole new level of awful.”
“Yeah,” Blaine agreed sharply. “Finally, today a new associate was added to the team – a senior associate who shares more of my mentality of how work should be, who is three years ahead of Hunter and outranks him. We finally turned in this big project we’d been working on all month, and while Hunter tried to make us stay to get ahead on other things, the new associate told us to head home and have some rest. At 10:00pm. A “night off” of sorts.” Blaine paused, nodding his head back and forth a few times as he thought something through. “I guess it really is a night off, despite the hour,” he finally conceded. “We were also told that we should sleep in tomorrow and not worry about coming to work until our team meeting at 2:00pm if we could swing it with our other cases.”
“The new guy sounds pretty good, in that case,” Kurt agreed. “Maybe he can help circumvent Hunter in the future.”
Blaine sighed. “He can, and he’ll help. I’m just so fed up of Hunter having no respect for me whatsoever because he doesn't agree with my perspective on how firm life should be. I have been yelled at and humiliated more times in the last month than in my last two years at the firm altogether and I’m just so fed up!”
“Reasonably so,” Kurt reassured him. “Maybe you should find another firm?”
“No,” Blaine rejected the idea immediately, shaking his head. “Mine is actually pretty good overall; Hunter is an outlier. But it’s just infuriating being stuck working with someone who doesn't respect me and having no way to speak up about it.”
“I hear you,” Kurt said supportively, wishing he had some kind of experience he could draw on to offer actual advice. Instead, he fell back on his usual expertise in exacting petty, imaginary vengeance. “So, how would you feel about a two-tiered hole? We could make a lower level for Hunter, where it’s colder and dirtier, and leave Sebastian on the higher level – still out of view and reach of the top, but in a better situation. It seems unfair to give Hunter someone to talk to.”
“I like it,” Blaine replied, thinking hard about it. “Can we add a few harmless snakes into the lower level? Not the poisonous or constrictor kinds, but the type that could freak Hunter out?”
“Sure,” Kurt agreed happily, pleased to see Blaine playing along. “How about we drill tiny snake sized tunnels into the lower level so the snakes could come and go at will and avoid being stomped by evil Hunter?”
“And then maybe we could send a few bugs down there too, just for good measure.”
“I like the way you think, Anderson,” Kurt said, impressed with the low-key vengeance of Blaine’s suggestions. “Forget teaching or writing, you could go into business designing enemy holes.”
“Enemy holes: the solution to your crappy co-worker,” Blaine announced in his best infomercial voice, hands mapping out the slogan in mid-air.
“Enemy holes: removing life’s little annoyances.”
“Enemy holes: we dig ‘em, you fill ‘em.”
“With slogans like that, we’d be millionaires in less than a month,” Kurt laughed.
“Well, it was your idea to begin with, I'd hate to steal the credit with my amazing slogan skills,” Blaine deferred, hands up in front of him. “I’ll stick to my plan.”
“Your plan that isn’t yet a plan?” Kurt teased gently, mentally crossing his fingers that he wouldn’t kill the smile on Blaine’s face.
To Kurt’s surprise and relief, Blaine’s smile only increased in size. “Right, the non-plan plan.”
“If you could do anything with your life, what would it be?” Kurt asked curiously, fascinated by the contradictions inherent in the man sitting in front of him.
“Anything?” Blaine clarified. Kurt merely nodded in response. “Probably continue at my firm for another year or two, not on teams with Hunter of course. Then I’d take some time to be a full time songwriter, live off savings for a bit. If I get published, or break my way into writing musicals, do that for the rest of my life. If not, go back to school and get a degree to teach music in public schools.” When he finished describing his ideal career path, Blaine’s expression transformed from a dreamy smile to a challenging smirk, with a twinkle in his eye. “What about you Kurt Hummel? If you could do anything with your life, what would it be?”
“Oooh, not fair turning my own question back on me,” Kurt fake pouted, even as he met Blaine’s eye and challenge head on. “For now, I’d love to break out of small community productions and off-off-Broadway shows. In an ideal world, I’d find a part that was perfect for me in a Broadway, or even a big off-Broadway show, and actually get cast, which would then propel my career forward and afford me even bigger and better opportunities. Barring that, I’d follow my dad’s advice and start writing roles that are perfect for me, like Lin-Manuel Miranda, and make it that way. I’ve been toying with ideas for years that I’ve never actually turned into anything. Makes me envious of your notebook full of lyrics and ideas.”
“Even when I rip them out?”
“Even then,” Kurt laughed, while ensuring Blaine knew he was serious. “You’re practicing and refining and getting things down. That’s always the hardest part – getting it out of my head.”
“It depends on the day,” Blaine acknowledged. “There are months where I have nothing to say. And then there are times, like the past few months, where the words and lyrics just won’t stop coming.”
“I guess you’ve just been inspired recently,” Kurt ventured.
Blaine’s gaze dropped shyly, before slowly raising to meet Kurt’s once again. “I guess so.” Kurt swallowed heavily at the intensity of Blaine’s gaze, and then blinked in surprise when Blaine broke the contact and cleared his throat loudly. “How, um,” he started, staring at his fingers on his lap as he spoke, “how did you know to send me up here?”
Startled at the abrupt change in topic and tone, Kurt asked, “What do you mean?”
“Downstairs,” Blaine said, gesturing towards the door, “you asked if I wanted to come up here before you had finished your shift. Instead of waiting for you to be done. How did you know to ask that?”
“I didn’t,” Kurt shook his head in bafflement, confused at Blaine’s earnest tone. “We had already agreed that we’d talk after my shift ended, so it just seemed like a good idea. You looked like you were going to murder someone.”
“Oh,” Blaine said in surprise, mouth retaining the shape of the word long after the sound had passed his lips. “It was just such a perfect suggestion, literally just what I needed at the moment. All of the people downstairs and the noise, I couldn’t handle it. I may have lost my mind– or drank myself into oblivion – if you hadn’t sent me up here when you did.”
“That I did notice,” Kurt agreed with a little laugh. A sudden thought occurred to him. “Does that have anything to do with why you come into a bar twice a week and sit quietly by yourself for hours?”
Blaine laughed self-consciously. “Yeah, I was wondering when you were going to ask me about that. It’s all part of the same thing.”
“Explain it to me?” Kurt requested, trying to communicate his interest and openness to Blaine’s perspective to encourage him to keep talking.
“It sounds like a contradiction when I say it out loud,” Blaine hedged, fingers twisting over each other nervously. Kurt said nothing, but waited patiently for Blaine to continue. This time he did. “I’m an outgoing introvert,” he said finally. “I love being around people, I love talking to them and performing and interacting with people. But when it’s people I don’t know well or people that I don’t like, it’s exhausting. And I need time to recharge, so I can do it all again the next day.”
“You’re right, it does sound a bit contradictory,” Kurt said, thinking over Blaine’s words.
“It’s a matter of expectations,” Blaine explained further, hugging his knees to his chest again. “I’ve had them my whole life. My parents expected me to be the model son they could show off at the country club. My friends at Dalton – the all-boys private high school I attended – expected me to be their front man. The people at my firm expect me to be a serious lawyer whose life is my work. And because I’ve always been outgoing, I have no problem talking to people and living up to those expectations. But it feels like a performance – like I’m always having to be one version of myself or another to please the people around me, and it’s completely and totally exhausting when I don’t have a break to recharge and just be myself.”
“About six months ago, my brother Cooper moved to New York – he’s an actor, and the company that shoots his commercials relocated him here. And since my roommate Wes had just moved out to live with his girlfriend, Coop moved into my apartment. So while my apartment had been my place to decompress and be myself at the end of the day, since Wes was a total introvert who liked to keep to himself at night, it’s become yet another place where I have to be a version of myself: brother Blaine. And my brother is a bit of a big personality -- he always wants to run lines or practice our accents or do exciting New York things, and I just couldn’t handle it every day.”
Kurt nodded as Blaine spoke, finally understanding. “And around six months ago, you started coming in.”
“Right,” Blaine nodded slowly in agreement. “I sort of stumbled across this place one night as I wandered around the Village after work, and got hooked when I heard the show-tunes. It’s quiet during happy hour, so I could just sit still on Monday nights, have a few drinks, do some reading or writing and have time to just be. Eventually, we started talking and you didn’t mind the constant Blackberry interruptions, or the random guy taking up space at the bar, writing and reading for hours. I could talk to you and just be myself.”
“I’m a big proponent of being yourself,” Kurt smiled reassuringly at Blaine. “So much so that I dressed up like Lady Gaga when I was in high school, complete with insane three inch platform silver boots.”
“I…would have liked to see that,” Blaine said, sounding impressed.
“Yeah, well, the jocks at my school didn’t like seeing it,” Kurt said seriously, recalling the taunts and shoves that defined his high school years. “Didn’t stop me from wearing my “Likes Boys” shirt a few months later and belting out “Born this Way” with my glee club, but they didn’t make it easy.”
“I’d like to hear more about that,” Blaine asked, almost shyly, “though I always was a bigger Katy Perry fan.”
“We’ll get back to that travesty in a minute,” Kurt shook his head in mock disappointment. “But if you’re sure,” Kurt paused questioningly until Blaine vigorously nodded in agreement, “then I have to go back a little bit to give you some background on my glee club. It won’t really make sense otherwise.”
With that, Kurt launched in the colorful and dramatic history of his time in the McKinley high school glee club. He covered the relationships and the breakups, the power struggles, the bullying – all of the elements that defined his high school career. Blaine said nothing as Kurt gesticulated widely to demonstrate his points, recounted the solos for which he was unfairly passed up, and passionately chastised the glee club advisor for his sometimes narrow minded ideas, but merely watched with a small smile.
It wasn’t until Kurt had reenacted the speech he had given after being crowned prom queen that Blaine finally spoke. “You amaze me,” Blaine shook his head in awe. “Being so secure in who you are that you are always that one person and don’t need to change it. And you’ve always been that way.”
“You could do it too, you know,” Kurt offered supportively, but Blaine merely shook his head.
“It’s not that I’m not being myself,” he explained hurriedly. “More like I’m versions of myself. Lawyer Blaine is the real me, but so is piano teacher Blaine and show-tunes loving Blaine and nerdy bookworm Blaine. It’s just rare that I get to be all of them at once. It’s what makes me love this place.”
“Well, I’m just glad that we’ve helped to create the space where you can be 100% Blaine,” Kurt said, pulling his legs up to mirror Blaine’s and leaning forward over them. “I like 100% Blaine, even if you do have atrocious taste in drinks.”
Blaine squinted at Kurt in what Kurt assumed was an attempt to give him an evil stare. “I like my Malibu and coke. Don’t mock the drink choices. I may just have to find another bar.”
“Good luck with that,” Kurt joked.
“I never could pull off the angry face,” Blaine lamented, shrugging helplessly. “But seriously, sending me up here tonight was probably the nicest thing that anyone has done for me in a month. Between the music and the crowd and the mood I was in, I may have lost it.”
“My pleasure.” Kurt dropped his lighthearted tone in favor of something he hoped sounded more heartfelt. “It’s here any time you need it.”
“Thanks,” Blaine smiled softly, his face just visible in the fading moonlight. Whatever moment they might have had was interrupted once again by Blaine abruptly breaking eye contact and checking his watch. “But, I probably should head home.”
Kurt reached between his legs and pressed a button on his phone, wincing when the backlight suddenly popped on. Blinking the bright spots from his eyes, Kurt almost did a double take when he saw the time: 1:30 in the morning. “Wow, me too. I didn’t realize it had gotten so late.”
“I think my body figured it out before my brain,” Blaine said before letting out a giant yawn. “Now that the anger adrenaline is gone, I can barely move.”
“Let’s get you cab before you fall asleep up here,” Kurt said, swinging his legs over the side of the ledge and stretching them into the empty room. “It seems like a good idea until the morning back pain. Really not worth it.”
“I’ll take your word on that one.” Blaine rested a moment longer on the windowsill, head leaning against the glass, before he sighed and swung his legs over the side of the ledge. He stumbled a bit as he jumped the short distance to the ground and fell right into Kurt, who caught ahold of his arms of out instinct more than explicit thought. Kurt froze with his hands on Blaine’s biceps, very aware of their proximity by the warm breath fanning against his neck and collarbone. Kurt gathered his courage, took a deep breath, and had just begun leaning in towards Blaine when he heard a quiet, “Thanks.”
“Oh,” Kurt said, hands loosening from Blaine’s arms and allowing Blaine to step back ever so slightly. “You’re welcome.” Kurt was grateful for the darkness surrounding them at that moment so Blaine couldn’t see the dark stain of embarrassment on his cheeks, and he turned quickly to walk towards the door, willing his heart to stop pounding. Blaine’s footsteps followed him quietly, pausing at the entranceway to collect his shoulder bag from the floor.
The music and cacophony of voice from downstairs had decreased substantially in the past two and a half hours, now making its way up the stairs in a dim murmur of chatter. Kurt made his way across the hallway to the small staircase, expecting Blaine to follow. “Kurt,” Blaine’s quiet voice rang out in the empty upstairs space instead. Kurt turned around, now illuminated by the light coming from the bar downstairs, to see Blaine take a small step forward into the dim light. “Really, thank you for tonight. You have no idea what it meant to me.”
Kurt couldn’t help but smile, despite the disappointment permeating his heart. “I meant it too – it’s my pleasure. You’re welcome up here any time you need, and I’m always happy to be a sounding board if you need one. What are bartenders for?” Kurt swallowed heavily as he joked, reaching out to rest one hand on Blaine’s shoulder. “Now let’s get out of here before your brother and my roommates send out search parties after us.”
With that, Kurt made his way through the bar, tossing a short wave to Kevin before he pushed through the front door, holding it open for Blaine to pass behind him outside. Whatever courage Kurt had summoned upstairs now escaped him and so, instead of going for a hug at the end of this surreal night that already had begun to feel like a dream, he stood awkwardly in front of Blaine for a moment of indecision before merely smiling, waving his right hand, and saying, “Have a good night, Blaine. Get home safe.”
Though Blaine smiled in response, his eyes remained downcast, only briefly flicking up to meet Kurt’s. “You as well, Kurt. Good night.” And when Kurt headed off in the opposite direction from Blaine, he forced himself to keep walking forward, looking straight ahead, rather than sneaking a glance backwards.
*****
You’re antsier than usual today,” Santana noted that Wednesday, when she came by to chat with him during their usual 6:30pm lull. “Anything to do with what happened between you and the Hobbit upstairs in the coat closet? You two were up there for an awfully long time Monday night.”
Kurt shrugged, attempting to pretend that he had thought of anything else since leaving the bar late Monday night. “I’m not antsy,” he deflected, quickly flattening his hand to stop his fingers from drumming on the bar, aware of Santana’s scrutinizing gaze.
“Mhm.” Santana pursed her lips in judgment and clear disbelief, eyes accusing as they bore into Kurt’s. She suddenly turned her attention towards the door with a wide, exaggerated smile. “Oh hi, Blaine!”
Kurt whipped his head in the same direction, eyes scanning over the faces of the group of women entering the bar even as he heard Santana cackle. “Oh yeah, you’re not looking for him at all. Clearly you’re not antsy and 100% fine, Hummel. Good job with the keeping up appearances.”
Kurt fixed Santana with a death glare. “Don’t you have tables to wait on, Satan?”
“Don’t take it out on me just cause you couldn’t seal the deal,” Santana snarked back over her shoulder as she sauntered away.
Kurt had opened his mouth for a retort, but closed it at her final words, which hit a little too close to home. As usual, he had misinterpreted Blaine’s openness and willingness to talk to him as something more. Imagining flirtation was something new for him, Kurt acknowledged as he dried off a tray of glasses and stacked them under the bar. Usually he could look back at his conversations with a guy and pinpoint the places where he had overanalyzed totally friendly gestures into something more. But not this time. The same sidelong glances, flirty challenges, and moments kept running through his head on repeat, making it harder than usual for Kurt to let go of the fantasy that Blaine might have reciprocated Kurt’s interest and feelings.
“Par for the course,” Kurt mumbled to himself. He forced himself to go about his usual early evening routine, knowing that even if Blaine were to come into the bar that night, he wouldn’t be there for hours yet. Quite unfairly, his Broadway playlist shifted to “Being Alive,” the final song from the show Company, and one of Kurt’s favorite songs of all time. Without realizing it, Kurt found himself unconsciously singing along, “Somebody need me too much, somebody know me too well, somebody pull me up short and put me through hell, and give me support for being alive. Make me alive.”
The lyrics were too on point for Kurt that evening – he wanted that kind of love so much, had been craving it for years, and hadn’t quite managed to find it for himself. And then, suddenly, the only man to make Kurt think he could actually have it had drawn back from the potential of anything more than friendship. Which was fine, Kurt mentally reminded himself. It was fine, and Kurt would be fine, and he would continue to be the good friend and refuge that Blaine needed in his life.
As this mantra repeated in his head, valiantly attempting to drown out the lyrics of “Being Alive,” a single “Kurt!” broke through and caught his attention. Startled, Kurt looked up, scanning the bar for the source of his name and was even more surprised to see Blaine, slightly out of breath and face flushed, leaning on the bar in his usual corner. Kurt almost dropped the glass he had been holding, but managed to stop it from falling to the ground and breaking before he hurried down the bar towards Blaine.
“Blaine, is everything –” Kurt started, concerned at the bright, slightly wild look in Blaine’s eye, but was cut off by Blaine lifting onto his tip toes and over the bar to grab Kurt’s face and draw him into a gentle, but insistent kiss. Kurt’s eyes widened momentarily, hands flailing in surprise before his brain caught up to his body and he gripped Blaine’s shoulders tightly, eyes closing blissfully as he kissed him back. Kurt whined softly when Blaine broke the kiss by coming down from his tip toes, and continued to hold Blaine close to him, their breath mingling as they tried to catch their breath.
Eventually, Kurt opened his eyes to see Blaine’s eyes flicking between his eyes and his lips only inches away. “Hi,” Blaine said quietly, licking his lips, hands now resting on the bar.
“Hi,” Kurt responded, letting his hands drift down from Blaine’s shoulders to his arms, stroking lightly up and down.
“I meant to do that the other night,” Blaine explained breathlessly, eyes still locked with Kurt’s. “And then I chickened out and killed the moment too many times. And then I didn’t have your number or any way to contact you yesterday. So the second I could get out of work today all I could think of was to come here and kiss you and oh my god I didn’t even ask you first, I’m so sorry, I just walked in here and grabbed you…”
Kurt smiled at Blaine’s sudden horrified rambling, and leaned down to kiss him lightly to cut him off. “It is 100%, completely and totally okay with me if you kiss me. In fact, I demand that you do so frequently and without warning.”
Blaine smiled widely, eyes flicking back down to focus on Kurt’s lips. “If you insist.” Blaine surged back upward, using one hand to push himself up off the bar and the other to cup Kurt’s face and draw him back down for another kiss. Unlike their first kiss, which was a gentle question, still fraught with uncertainty, this one was strong and sure, at once both an invitation and a promise.
Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine’s neck, fingers playing with the curls that had managed to escape their gelled prison, and would have happily gotten lost in Blaine’s embrace if he hadn’t heard a slow clap start from behind him. “Very nice,” a familiar voice interrupted them, causing Kurt to pull back regretfully and lean his forehead against Blaine’s as he reminded himself that he usually quite liked Santana and that killing her would be counterproductive.
Blaine chuckled quietly, and pressed one final, soft kiss to Kurt’s lips before drawing back and saying, “Hi Santana.”
“Oh no, I’ve seen what happens when you say hi to people,” Santana held her hands up defensively. “100% lesbian here, Hobbit. Keep your hi’s for Hummel here.”
“My pleasure.” Blaine agreed easily, settling onto the barstool that he had previously pushed aside and slipping his hand into Kurt’s on top of the bar.
“Disgusting,” Kurt heard Santana mutter, even as he saw her smile widely and throw him a wink.
Kurt ignored Santana, and turned his attention back to the gorgeous man sitting in front of him. “How are you here?” Kurt asked, still in mild disbelief even as he laced his fingers with Blaine’s.
“Talked to the senior associate before the team meeting,” Blaine shrugged, eyes still twinkling happily. “I explained to him what’s been going on with Hunter and asked to be assigned to parts of the case that didn’t involve dealing directly with Hunter. So now I’m working with him and one of the juniors on jury exercises, while Hunter and a different junior associate do research for some of the motions we have to file.”
“But it’s not even seven yet,” Kurt stammered, his heart flying a mile a minute.
“I told everyone that I had somewhere important to be,” Blaine shrugged again, uncaring and perfectly content. “I may sign on later from home, but I couldn’t let another minute go by without making this right.”
“But,” Kurt stammered, still trying to process that what he had hoped for had actually come to pass.
“You know, if you keep protesting, I’m going to think that you don’t want me here,” Blaine teased with his unfailing smile.
Kurt’s eyes widened and he shook his head, using the hand intertwined with Blaine’s to pull him closer for another kiss. “Don’t you dare.”