"And Brandon…he's just this complete and utter dolt," Blaine sighed, exhausted. His eyes glowed and he nodded as if to say, This Is Important, Listen.
"The other day…" As Blaine went off on some rant about this new boss of his, Kurt began swirling his drink. The slight English teacher found the sound of ice slipping around the side of his glass intriguing, vaguely.
Blaine's eyes became glassy, with the idea of himself and his story. Free to do whatever he pleased, Kurt glanced around the restaurant. He didn't notice anyone new or interesting for a time—only the regular elderly couples who came, and various faceless young families.
Then—then! As Blaine's voice distantly reached a crescendo, Kurt saw him come in.
He was balding, and largely unassuming; yet, there existed some charm in the awkward fit of his saggy jean jacket and khaki pocketed pants. The man scratched the back of his head with a certain remembered hesitance, as a waiter approached him.
Kurt swiftly swept his hair to a nice place, scratching his nose and glancing at his drink. He took a sip before looking again.
Feeling some inner thunk, Kurt realized that the man was not someone he knew. The burly character had a face that sagged too much; his features, so quickly, turned unfamiliar.
Kurt sighed.
"I dreamed of flying salt-and-pepper shakers last night," he spoke up, above Blaine's indulgent chatter, his voice forced to a kind, lightly amused note.
Blaine didn't hear him, or if he did, he kept on talking, staring at nothing.
Kurt returned to swirling his iced drink.