Blaine looks up like he always does when the buzzer on the door goes off. He does it because it's his job to greet each and every individual who comes through the store. He also does it because it's practically the only time he gets in a day to interact with people about something that doesn't involve academia.

Blaine knows he's lonely. Between his heavy workload, countless hours of practice sessions and lessons and the fellowship he needs to complete to earn his Masters, he's barely hanging on, barely finding room to breathe. But when Blaine looks up this time, he finds that breathing will not be something he's able to do.

He's in the middle of resetting the display table in the front of the store when his eyes lock on this beautiful stranger. He thanks god that the man is currently fiddling with his phone, too preoccupied to notice Blaine gawking. Then Blaine finally manages a greeting, stammering and stumbling over his "Hello, how are you today?" the same phrase he's said so many times that it's become second nature. But for some reason, in the presence of this tall, handsome, fashionable, and very put-together man, he has a very hard time saying anything at all.

When bright blue eyes rise to meet his, paired with a vague smile, Blaine feels his heart rate increase, and he almost drops the very tiny sweater he has been absentmindedly folding and refolding, the arm of which catches on the nametag hanging on the lanyard around his neck.

The new customer walks by as Blaine tries to play it off as if he's not a bumbling, clumsy fool who ceases functioning just from looking at a man. He quickly finishes the assigned task, glancing over his shoulder a few times to make sure the man is still there and he isn't hallucinating, and then makes his way back to his register.

It's a small store, so it's not difficult for Blaine to inconspicuously keep an eye on the person of interest. And since his brain has ceased functioning, he fails to remember where he works until his head clears and he sees the man picking up little khakis and equally tiny sweaters off of a shelf, lifting them to examine how well they match.

Blaine's stomach twists, and his heart begins to ache again. At the same time the man shakes his head and places the outfit back on the shelf, Blaine dolefully shakes his head at himself for being so foolish.

"Did you finish fixing the display?" an all-too-familiar voice cuts into Blaine's consciousness, causing him to turn around to face his manager.

"Yeah, I think it's done. Um, is there anything else you need me to do, Jeremiah?" Blaine asks, always the good employee, always wanting to please.

"Nope, but thank you for asking. You only have about an hour left in your shift, so why don't you just relax."

"Oh, thank you," Blaine says. Then he looks up at the wall by which the man had been standing, but he's disappointed when he sees a middle-aged woman standing there instead, trying to keep a fussy five-year-old by her side while she shops.

After pivoting around, eyes searching the store, he realizes that the man is no longer there. It's sort of a blessing, when he thinks about it, because he has a job to do, and becoming distracted by beautiful and, considering the circumstances, probably straight, married men with children, is not something that Blaine needs.

So he leaves his register and approaches the woman to offer his help. She knows what she wants, so Blaine crouches down and entertains the fidgety five-year-old with a few jokes and a silly song. Soon he has him laughing, and his mother is immensely grateful and much relieved. She's in such a good mood that she leaves the store with two large bags of clothing for the little boy and the even younger girl she has at home, one outfit for whom Blaine helped pick out.

A quick glance at the clock, and he realizes that his shift is just about up. When he clocks out and makes his way back through the mall, into the emptying parking lot, and gets into his car, it all comes flooding back to him. The unfriendly reminder hits him that he is alone and going back to his empty apartment to sleep in his cold bed only to wake up for classes the next morning to start the same sorry cycle anew.

He supposes it could be worse. He could be stuck working at Baby Gap for the rest of his life.

-s-

The gravel crunches beneath his tires as he pulls into the lot of the apartment complex and then into his designated, numbered spot, and as he climbs out of the car, he's already got a checklist of chores and unfinished homework he needs to complete for the following day on loop in his head.

Laundry. Dishes. Bills. Finish transposing those three original works for his seminar. Make sure his lesson plans are in order for the week for the intro class he's teaching.

And the list goes on.

Blaine's studio apartment is just big enough for him, a place he can afford on his tight budget. It's not luxury, but it's cozy, and for now, it's home. Once he's thrown his clothes into the washing machine, Blaine hurries to his piano where all his unfinished work is strewn across the bench and propped up against the music rack.

He sorts through the mess, finding exactly what he needs, and when he sits down, places his fingers on the keys, lifts his pencil, and then touches it to the paper, Blaine's world is in harmony again. He plays until he finishes the work, and then he plays a little longer, because here, immersed and lost in the music, is where Blaine forgets all his worries. It's where Blaine feels full and whole again. He knows that he made the right decision to go back to school to pursue music, his father be damned. And he would suffer in this tiny apartment with his retail job and his long days of teaching and attending classes if it means that he gets to live out his passion and be himself, that he gets to be happy.