An unintentional guide to falling in love with a star
Step one: make sure you're absolutely and unequivocally not capable of acting like a normal human being upon meeting a celebrity
Kurt Hummel has recently turned nineteen on this fateful day. What's so fateful about it we'll get to in a moment, but first a brief introduction: Kurt Hummel, nineteen years old, halfway through his first year at NYADA, part-time intern at , and part-time waiter at a singing diner, the Spotlight Diner.
Currently working at the diner, Kurt is enjoying the quiet solitude of late weeknights – his favorite shift. No costumers, and hardly any work: just a lot of wiping tables and floors, and unrestrained singing and/or dancing, practicing scales or even getting started on homework and essays. It's one am on a Tuesday and Kurt is pulled out of a soulful interpretation of Bootylicious by the door ringing and announcing a costumer. Rare creatures those are at these times of night, but all the same, too predictable and one of three – the drunkard, the insomniac or the traveller.
A quick glance from where he is wiping the counter tells him traveller – the man is not stumbling his way to a table, and is also dressed as someone who most definitely did not climb out of his bed in search of solace or something to do. Kurt tosses the yellow cloth away and readjusts the knot on his apron before he makes his way towards the stranger.
And voi-lá: the fatefulness of the day.
As the man looks up, Kurt finds himself face to face with Blaine Anderson. Blaine Fucking Anderson.
Now, Kurt might not be one of those devoted (to say the least) fans, but to not know who Blaine Anderson is would be to live under a rock. And even then, and regardless of whether Kurt liked the man's work or not (he did, very much, both as a singer, and the few stints he's pulled in acting so far) the truth remained, Blaine Anderson was the name when it came to today's Pop culture. And he was so despite his being gay, which he openly admitted to since day one. So, again, even if Kurt didn't even so much as tolerate his work, he would never, ever be indifferent to the person standing right in front of him – a person who, had he been around for longer than a year and a half, would have been Kurt's greatest inspiration for getting out of high school unscathed and relatively sane with the promise of a better future.
Having long ago vouched to be as cool as a cucumber when dealing with famous people, Kurt only allowed himself a moment of insanity – when he choked on a nervous giggle – before clearing his throat and smiling as professionally as possible.
"Hello, how can I help you?"
Blaine Anderson smiles – a dashing, most charming smile that Kurt had previously been certain was a product of Photoshop and airbrushing – and says, "Do you think I could get a coffee? Strong? And black?"
"Sure thing…" Kurt nods, "Be right back."
He makes his way back to the counter where he prepares the best damn pot of coffee he's ever prepared, all the while paying rapt attention to the way Blaine Anderson pulls a large, white book that might have been a script out of his bag and starts reading it with a sigh.
He's just about ready to pour him his cup of coffee when the bell rings signaling someone's entrance. Kurt looks up to find a pair of drunken girls stumbling inside. He rolls his eyes, but bites back the groan. Drunkards are the worst.
They giggle uncontrollably as they make their way towards Kurt – they don't even notice Blaine Anderson surveying them from the top of his script.
"Do you have alcohol?" One of them asks, the taller one with a bad hair dye job.
"No." Kurt shakes his head, "This is a diner, not a seven-eleven…"
"Vodka?"
"Again, no. As that qualifies as alcohol." He gives them a squinted smile "And even if we did sell alcohol, it's illegal to sell it to clearly inebriated people such as yourselves."
"You are so lame." The shorter one, with a fake tan, groans.
"Yes, well, that's life." He shrugs, picking up Blaine Anderson's cup of coffee and starting towards his table. He's just turned his back on them when something crashes to the ground. He spins back around a looks to find three saltshakers splattered on the floor.
"What the hell!?"
"That's life!" One of them says, mimicking him with a stupidly high-pitched voice and a sneer.
Kurt counts to five before he turns on his heel and goes back towards Anderson's table, delivering his coffee as unaffected as possible, smiling "Here you go, black and strong."
"Huh, thanks…" Blaine frowns slightly, still looking at the girls before shooting him a quick and warm smile, "Huh, what do you have to eat that's not completely… you know… dried out and old by now?" he scrunches up his nose.
Kurt chuckles, letting go of some tension "We ha-"
"Oh my god!" one of the girls shrieks, "You're Blaine Anderson!"
"Oh my god!" the other echoes, "You totally are!" she groans and half runs, half stumbles towards the table "OH my god! You have to give us an autograph!"
"And a picture!" the other says as she positions herself right by him, stretching out her phone.
"Do you have a pen I can borrow?" Anderson turns to Kurt, looking like he'd rather drown than indulge these girls. Kurt nods and hands him the pen.
Anderson doesn't even look up from where he's writing the note, on a napkin, while they take at least three selfies with him. "Here you go." He says, handing them the napkin. One of them holds it close to her face but is apparently to drunk to read.
"Oh my god, thank you, what does it say?"
"Dear girls whose names I don't know or care to know, grow up. And then that's my signature right there."
"Awesome!" they gasp and giggle leaning into each other.
"Goodbye now." Blaine tells them and doesn't wait for them to leave before he's back to staring at his script and sipping his coffee. Kurt watches them leave in awe.
"So about that food?"
"Oh… huh… isn't that like…? Won't you get bad press for it?"
"They'll probably lose the napkin in half an hour… and it's not… I think I can deal with some bad press from ignorant people. It's fine."
"Right, huh, we have… we have blueberry pie and apple pie?I'd recommend the blueberry pie, I mean, it's not fresh fresh… but it came in this evening… so it's not that bad. That apple pie is a little older, I guess."
"Apple pie, please."
"Oh. I mean, the kitchen's closed, but if you'd prefer I can give you a burger or…"
"The apple pie's fine, huh" he squints towards Kurt's chest, "Kurt." He smiles, toothy and bright.
"Alright. I mean, I guess it's not that bad… I'll bring it right over." He has a moment of silent freak out as he hides behind the counter, cutting up the slice and putting it carefully and prettily on the plate. Taking a deep breath he steps out towards Anderson's table again.
"Here you go-o…?" he stutters as he notices Anderson's coffee cup is already empty and the guy is smiling sheepishly, "Refill?"
"Please…!" he breathes, "I'm just… I've just returned from my parents', where there's a no-coffee policy, just a lot of tea, basically, and..."
"It's just not the same." Kurt nods, understandingly, and Anderson sighs with laughter. "I'll be right back."
He makes sure the coffee is still hot and good before he refills the cup and brings it back over. He reaches to put it down on the table just as Anderson goes for the apple pie, and in a split second Anderson is jumping off his chair with a yelp and dark brown stain all over his front.
"Oh my god! Oh no! Oh no! Oh my god! I'm sorry! So sorry! Shit!" Kurt gasps, horrified "I am so sorry!"
"It's fine!" Anderson breathes, voice straining with pain from the hot liquid on his clothes and skin.
"Shit, I'm so sorry!" Kurt can't seem to stop saying it as Anderson swipes a hand over his wet clothes, effectively making some it swish off his hands and to the floor, "Let me help!" Kurt says as, apparently his brain freezes and he ducks over to scrub at the stain with his apron.
"I'm fine!" Anderson practically squeals pulling away from Kurt's hands, which, as he now notices were dangerously close to the man's crotch. Of course. "I'm fine…" Anderson half chuckles.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to… assault you or anything! I didn't even think! I…"
"It's ok!" Anderson interrupts, as scarlet faced as Kurt, before he smiles nervously and laughs, "I'm fine, it's fine! I should've looked up to see what you were doing – I was just… so concentrated."
"Oh god… I'm so sorry."
"Kurt, I'm fine!"
"Your clothes are ruined!"
"It's… whatever, it's fine."
Kurt bites down the urge to apologize again and stutters out, "I, huh, I have clothes, if you want."
"What?" Anderson frowns, suddenly confused.
"I, I mean, clean clothes… not these, I could lend you a clean set of clothes."
"Oh!" Blaine gasps "Right. I…"
"I always bring a clean set of clothes, because by the time I end my shift I always smell like French fries and ketchup… you know…" he finishes lamely "It's fine. You can have them."
"Oh."
"I can deal with a greasy smell for tonight… But those clothes are about to become extremely uncomfortable, as soon as the coffee starts cooling…" he continues, gaining speed and confidence in the fact that his offer isn't entirely outrageous and farfetched.
"Oh, I guess… Hum…. You really don't mind?"
"No, not at all."
"Thanks." Anderson smiles with a huff, "I guess it'll be better than this."
Kurt nods and tries not to let out any of the screaming happening inside his head. Blaine Anderson is about to wear his clothes. "You can get dressed in the break room. Follow me." He adds with a voice he knows sounds weird, hopefully Anderson will understand it as nervousness and not creepiness or anything like that.
Kurt doesn't look back, only sparing a glance over his shoulder, before he grabs his bag and pulls out – cringing slightly – his favorite pair of jeans and – swallowing in relief – the plain black shirt, he's been considering sending to an old age home by now.
"I don't have an undershirt…" he frowns slight "sorry…"
"No, this is fine! This is more than great! Thanks!"
"Ok, so, here you go." He says as he hands the small pile and moves towards the door "I'll be right outside." And then cringes "I mean, I'll be outside. Not right outside… just… outside."
Anderson is looking at him with an almost smile before he says, "Ok. I'll be right out."
Kurt feels his cheeks burning like they've never burned before and just swallows and nods before turning around and leaving, closing the door behind him. He stays still for a long minute before he takes a deep breath and goes over to the fridge, opening it and just sticking his head inside. It's no oven, and he's no Sylvia Plath, but it'll do for now.
Of course – of course – that's how Anderson finds him, "Kurt, do you have a bag-"
Kurt steps back and shuts the refrigerator door with so much force and speed that he hears the clatter of shelves and things falling and crashing inside. He cringes and tries to make the floor swallow him whole out of sheer will.
Anderson is looking at him through squinted, possibly amused eyes, holding a pile of his coffee-stained clothes, "bag for my clothes…?"
Kurt nods, a tiny whimper escaping him and making him feel even worse.
"Were you sticking your head in the fridge?"
Kurt nods again, desperately waiting for that floor to swallow him.
"Well, I suppose the 'right out there, but not right right…' thing was kind of bad." Anderson says, but his smile is kind and only a little teasing "but there's no need to put your head in a fridge over it. Although, I do appreciate the innovation, in regards to not putting it in the oven."
"The fridge was closer." Kurt mumbles.
"Pragmatic." The other man says with an approving nod, "So, about that bag for my clothes, any chance I could get one?"
"Sure." Kurt springs into action at once to get him one of the diner's paper bags.
"Maybe it'd be a bad idea to ask for another cup of coffee,…?" Anderson asks with amusement.
"I'll be right out with it." Kurt returns the smile, as cheekily as he can, still blushing, while the other man actually laughs and goes back to his table. Kurt tries not to choke on how tight his jeans are on Blaine Freaking Anderson's ass, and instead goes back to make a new batch of coffee and definitely not think about that ass. That amazing as-not thinking about it, Kurt, not thinking about it.
Upon returning with Anderson's coffee he makes sure to put it down extra carefully.
"Very nice…" Anderson grins "Not even a drop."
"Thanks, thanks! It's a talent. But I have yet to perfect dealing with incoming hands, obviously. So…"
Anderson gives him a warm smile, as he takes the cup and sips it.
"I'll be over there if you need anything else." Kurt says before turning on his heel and going back to the counter.
"Ok. Thanks"
It's still a while before Blaine Anderson finally closes his script – only halfway through, and stretches his arms over his head taking the last, long forgotten piece of pie, and getting up, taking his wallet out of his bag and coming towards the counter.
"So, how much do I owe you."
"A piece of pie and two cups of coff-"
"Three."
"The one all over your clothes doesn't count. You can't drink that."
"Is that a dare?"
"Gross, no." Kurt wrinkles his nose and Anderson laughs, "That'll be seven thirty."
He hands him a ten and says, "Keep the change. Or… hum, should I tip you better? I mean, I don't want to have bad press." He adds with a wink.
Kurt feels his neck burning slightly as he shakes his head "That's more than fine, thanks." He says, and then automatically adds, "Come again, soon." And blanches, "Or, hum… don't… god knows after that apple pie… or. Whatever. Oh god…!" Kurt rubs a hand over his face and takes a deep breath before he can brave looking at the man in front of him.
He finds him leaning over the counter, hand coming to cup the back of Kurt's neck, but not pulling him closer as he just locks eyes with Kurt, waiting for a few seconds before leaning a little bit closer, eyes falling to Kurt's lips and Kurt can't help mimicking the motion. His breath is gentle and warm on Kurt's lips, and the anticipation finally takes the best of Kurt who closes the distance. It's slow and tentative and so, so soft. Blaine's hand in Kurt's neck pulls him closer, and moves to thread his fingers to the nape of Kurt's hair, as another comes to cup his jaw, gently maneuvering Kurt's face so he can deepen the kiss. They part just as slowly as it began, Blaine going back for three more, soft, short kisses before he leans all the way back, the full distance of the counter between them once more.
"Oh, hum… I…" Blaine – it's impossible to keep calling him Anderson, after they've kissed – stutters and runs a fidgety hand through his hair, clearly trying to hold back a smile and looking thoroughly confused and dazed "I'll – I guess I'll go now."
"O-ok…"
"Huh, best… huh, best not to tell anyone about this…"
"Yeah, of course." Kurt agrees without really paying attention to his words, "I mean, who'd believe it anyway, right? Not me. I'd sooner believe that my Hogwarts letter has arrived and in any case I'm going to shut up now, so I can go and stick by head in the fridge."
Blaine is looking at him with bright eyes, biting his lip and keeping his grin somewhat contained and the sight of it makes Kurt relax enough to return the smile.
"Goodbye, Mr. Anderson, have a goodnight."
"You too." Blaine says softly before he finally starts to walk away.
He watches Blaine wave one last time collecting his stuff off the table, slowly and carefully.
"By the way," Blaine says as he opens the door, "It's just that I'm allergic to blueberries. I wasn't doubting your pie expertise." He smiles and steps out, letting the door close gently behind him.
"Oh my god." Kurt gasps as soon as Blaine has stepped outside of the diner, letting himself drop onto the counter and not even caring that his face his smutched up against it – germs be damned. Getting his head around meeting Blaine Anderson would've been hard, but getting his head around the fact that he kissed Kurt… that will certainly turn out to be impossible.
Suddenly Blaine's last year hit comes back to him. He doesn't remember the words exactly (a lot of puns about dogs, stroking and howling), but he remembers the scandal. A gay man singing purely about sex, so open and explicitly, had been the talk of anything media for at least the three months after its release. Kurt remembers, the interviews after that, he remembers watching them on repeat because for once the media had someone worthy standing up to them, someone gay and unapologetically so. Someone brave enough to say that if rappers could get to sing about candy shops and whatnot, if The Chordettes got to sing about lollipops, then why on earth shouldn't he get to sing a fun song about sex, "because at the end of the day that's all it is for me, just a fun song that happens to be about sex"? Kurt remembers watching those interviews and thinking, how lucky are the kids growing up now, that they get to have this role model in their lives?
But most of all, all he can think about is that the same man that wrote and sang that song has just kissed Kurt.
He laughs, quiet first and hysterical then. He's still laughing when Rachel comes stumbling inside "I'm sorry I'm late, Kurt, I swear it's not my fault. Santana broke my alarm clock when she borrowed it after she broke hers."
"Not a problem." he assures her.
"You ok? You look a little flushed."
"I'm fine." Kurt shrugs "Would you mind terribly if I went home… it's been a slow night, anyway…"
"No, go ahead. You've been alone for an hour anyway, I think I can handle myself too."
He smiles and thanks her but wastes no time on getting himself back home, pulling the loft curtains for his room around himself, and staring at his ceiling for a good half an hour before he gives into the urge to grab his laptop and pathetically type 'Blaine Anderson' on the search bar.
There are articles, loads of them speculating about his relationship status and break-up rumors, but he skips over all of those (the last thing he wants to think about is his public relationship to that boy band front man, Sebastian Smythe), and goes straight for the YouTube playlists.
Eventually, the playlist starts playing only ballads and he finds himself lulled into sleep, where he dreams of endless musical kisses.
The next day he wakes up to Santana berating him for not waking her up. He reminds her, as usual, that he is not her father and that she needs to stop breaking every alarm clock in the house, and goes to have breakfast. The normalcy of that morning is so stark against the surreal previous night that it only makes Kurt even more confused and he spends his free time of those few next days being particularly silly and watching the Princess Diaries, Prince and Me, and Chasing Liberty.
To add to the mix, Tina and Mercedes come over and in the middle of it all they somehow en up watching one of Blaine's first films, and Kurt can barely hold himself together as Tina sighs "Can you imagine? Getting to kiss him?"
"Girl, the boy's gay." Mercedes frowns, amused.
"I know, but it's not like we stand a chance either way, is it? If I have to worship from afar, it doesn't matter if he's gay or not."
He wants to say – I didn't have to worship for afar – I worshipped him really, really up close and personal. I worshipped his lips with mine and it was majestic. But he doesn't.
It takes him three days before he manages to stop thinking about it at every waking moment. It is at this time, precisely when he thinks he might be getting his sanity back, that Rachel makes him aware of how much he once hated her.
"Oh!" Rachel gasps as she unties her apron, getting ready to head out "I almost forgot, a package came for you the other day. It's in the break room."
"The other day?" Kurt frowns, already putting down the empty coffee cups and going towards the door.
"I forgot! I've been so busy with rehearsals and NYADA and the diner…!" She says as she follows him inside and starts zipping down her uniform. He doesn't push the subject, not in the mood for Rachel's self-pity, and also because he still doesn't particularly like standing there and talking to her while she undresses and dresses.
Instead he grabs for the paper brown package that might be his. It has writing on it: Kurt, Eternally grateful! B.A. and then there's something else underneath but there's a grease stain over it and he can't read it very well – it might be a number. Oh my god. It might be a number. It might be Blaine Anderson's number.
"Rachel! Why is there a grease stain on my package?" he asks, trying not to raise his voice too much.
"I don't know. Because this is a diner and there are grease stains everywhere?" she shrugs.
"Dammit, Rachel, why did you forget about this?!" he sighs, exasperated, and he rips the package open and holds up the paper against the light. It's slightly more discernable now.
"Why are you so upset?" She asks as she brushes her hair and moves to look at the paper too "Oh. Oh! Is that a number? Is that a boy's number?"
"Possibly." He whispers, as menacing as possible.
"Oh no!" she pouts and lets her head fall gently against his shoulder.
"You have no idea." He gets out through gritted teeth.
After meticulous observation and close inspection he comes to ten possible phone numbers.
Back at the loft he talks himself out of and into calling them at least five times before Santana snatches away his cell phone and dials the first number on his List of Possibilities. He watches horrified and paralyzed but it turns out to be an old lady who then wastes half an hour of Santana's time telling her about the granddaughter that never calls, and Santana drops the phone afterwards saying, "This is dumb."
Kurt is slightly hyperventilating but for some reason he does pick the phone up and dials the second option. It's not Blaine. It's some girl who's kind of rude about the whole thing, but Kurt pushes through, until on the third ring of the sixth number, there is a voice that is unmistakably male and… well, Blaine.
"Hello?"
"Hi?" he cringes.
"Hi…?" Blaine chuckles back "Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?"
"Oh, huh, right. This is Kurt. Kurt Hummel! From the diner, Spotlight diner. I spilled coffee on you, you took my clothes…"
"Oh, hi! Kurt! I thought I wouldn't get to hear back from you." Blaine says, his voice suddenly much friendlier "I guess you were just playing hard to get, then."
"Oh! Oh, no! Not at all! It's just that you left your package with my idiot coworkers and they're not the most reliable people. And then there was a grease stain over your number and I had to call half of Manhattan before I got the right number… I'm sorry, I would've called sooner."
"That makes me feel slightly better." Blaine chuckles on the other end, "I was wondering, though, maybe you could meet me for a cup of coffee?"
"Oh." Kurt's heart stops altogether and he swallows dry "I, huh, yes, I suppose I could do that…?"
"What time is it?" Blaine asks, apparently rhetorically because he barely pauses before saying "So, ok, maybe five-ish o'clock? Would that work for you?"
"Yeah, absolutely! Absolutely!" he nods to no one in particularly and the remembers to ask, "Where?"
"Alright, huh, I'm going to be doing some press over at the Ritz this afternoon. Come over, and we'll see if we stay here or go somewhere else… when you get here, ask for Mr. Frodo in room 21." Blaine tells him and Kurt doesn't even have time to find it weird, "So, I'll see you soon. Bye."
"Bye." Kurt breathes, just as the line cuts and he's left sitting on the dining room table, completely awestruck and barely conscious of what to think. Santana walks by and looks at him, half concerned, half…. Something.
"You managed to find the right one?"
"Yes." Kurt mumbles.
"Congrats. You getting some?"
"Coffee."
"Ok. Less congrats. But still." She pats him on the head, like she sometimes does, just to be obnoxious, and then leaves towards her room.
It's a testament to how crazy the whole thing is that he doesn't even remember to freak out over what to wear until half an hour later. Entirely conscious of the whole 'don't look like you're trying to hard' he keeps it fairly simple. He's sprinting down the stairs when his cell rings and he looks to see it's Mercedes. "Hey," he breathes as he picks it up "What's up?"
"Just reminding you that tomorrow is Sam's birthday party."
"I know, and I'm coming. Don't worry, we even arranged for the perfect present and all."
"Oh! A first edition copy of Captain America?"
"No, a lifelong supply of chapstick, actually. It was Santana's idea." He says as he picks up his coat, "Anyway, I'm sure your boyfriend will have a great birthday, and I'm absolutely thrilled that the whole gang is getting together for it, in New York, of all places but I gotta go, sweetie."
"Wait, wait, I was calling because I was wondering if you could bake the cake…?"
"Sure. Of course. His favorite is still the one with strawberries and cream, right?"
"Right. See you tomorrow then."
"See you!" he smiles just as he clicks the door closed behind him, not even bothering to let the girls know he's going out.
Before going over to the hotel he stops to get them coffee – knowing of course that hotels serve coffee but feeling bad about showing up empty-handed. As he steps into the Ritz he can't help gaping at it, and he wonders what it is about his life that has suddenly become so absurd and weird. He steps into the front desk and asks for Mr. Frodo in room 21, a woman with a clipboard to her chest, walking with another man, overhears him and says at once "Oh, dear, come with me."
He tries not to let his confusion show too much before he follows them into the elevator. They head out of it and toward the farthest door on the corridor, which is definitely not room 21. He's way too confused to hide it now, but he doesn't speak as the woman opens the door and ushers them both inside. The room is packed with people with notebooks and coffees balanced on knees. She gestures towards a desk where a man with another clipboard says "Sorry, we're running a little late, but we'll get to you soon. You're from?"
"Time out magazine…" the other man says, and Kurt blanches as he understand that Blaine is doing press work right now, and he's been mistaken for a journalist.
"And you?"
He feels both set of eyes landing on him, and the heat and pressure, for some obscure reason, makes him spit out "The Fab Closet."
"What?"
"It's huh… it's a new magazine… very gay. Huh… I mean… huh." he tries not to let his panic show too much. The truth is that there is no such magazine, but there is such a blog somewhere in the depths of the Internet.
"Alright then, great. We'll call you as soon as possible."
"Right, huh, my name's Kurt Hummel… Mr. Anderson might be expecting me…?"
"Like, I said, we'll call you as soon as possible."
He blushes and doesn't say anything else, allowing himself to be lead to a free seat.
"Two cups of coffee?" The girl sitting next to him grins clearly amused and not in the kind way, "You brought him coffee?"
"Oh no… huh, it's a… it's for a colleague of mine. He's just running a little late and asked me to get one for him."
"That's nice of you."
"Yeah…" Kurt nods.
"You look kind of young…"
"I'm an intern." He clenches his jaw, wishing she would stop asking questions.
"Wow, aren't you lucky. When I was an intern I never got to interview the good ones. I'm with Vogue." Of course, of course she is. Good thing that wasn't the first thing out of his mouth then.
He nods tersely and goes back to staring at his hands holding the coffee cups.
It's ten minutes before the woman with the clipboard tells him to follow her.
The door opens and he's met with Blaine sitting on a lovely couch, sipping a cup of tea. The moment Blaine's eyes land on Kurt he immediately springs to his feet, but before either can say anything the woman clears her throat "Mr. Hummel is from The Fab Closet."
Kurt feels his chest tighten and his face flush with humiliation at Blaine's suddenly quirked eyebrow.
"Is he, now?"
Kurt winces and does some weird gesture between a nod and a shake of his head – it ends up looking like he just has a kink in his neck.
"You have five minutes to talk about Mr. Anderson's most recent project, Mr. Hummel." the woman informs him, before closing the door.
"Oh my god." He breathes as soon as it clicks closed and they're alone.
Blaine's chuckles pull him out oh his horror "The Fab Closet?"
"It was my stupid fashion blog when I was fourteen, I… just, I blanked…"
Blaine grins and walks back over to his couch "It's fine, really, it's my fault. I thought this would be over by now. I'm sorry."
"It's ok. Here, I, huh, I brought you this… though, obviously it's not needed. And it might be a little cold now."
"Oh! Oh, no! That's very nice, really! I prefer coffee to tea anytime, so, really, thank you." He beams, taking the cup of coffee and sipping it.
"No problem…" he says, mainly because a weird silence was settling over them.
"Anyway, I just… I wanted… I just wanted to make sure… things were ok… and… apologize for the whole… kissing you thing. I'm not really sure what came over me, to be honest."
Kurt's can physically feel his heart stop and his stomach drop two storeys. It's silly, really. What had he been expecting? A love declaration? A bouquet of red roses and an invitation for dinner?
"Oh, everything's fine, don't worry about it. It's not like I'm going to sue you for kissing me, right?" Kurt laughs awkwardly, "I mean… lucky me, right?" he adds, automatically cringing inwardly.
Blaine seems a little taken aback, his own eyebrows shooting up and his lips forming a tentative smile "Huh, lucky both of us." He says, his smile polite, if a little cheeky.
Kurt hangs his head and breathes, figuring he might as well be honest "This all just feels so surreal, I don't even know what to think, to tell you the truth."
"Oh?"
"I mean… I got kissed by Blaine Anderson… that's… the kind of things movies are made of, right? How does a person wrap their heads around something like this, you know?" Blaine gives him a sort of a tight smile, and Kurt just shrugs and continues with a laugh, "Maybe I could just write a movie about it, and turn it into some romantic comedy where I can then write myself saying and doing the things I would never be able to. It would be a musical, of course. I could use your songs for the soundtrack – it seems fitting. I'd write, direct and star in it, I'd make millions off of it, I'd become famous and then maybe this whole thing wouldn't be so surreal after all. So really, thanks for the opportunity of a lifetime." He pauses, noticing that Blaine is looking at him like he's a puzzle with a missing piece "Of course than you'd sue me or something…"
"Or I could star in it too." Blaine counters, giving him a one-shouldered shrug and taking another sip from his coffee.
"Or that, yeah…" Kurt blushes slightly, "But you'd still have to audition, though. Don't go thinking I'm gonna give you a part just cuz you made a pass at me and you're good kisser."
Blaine does laugh at that, "Of course. I wouldn't dream of it." he smiles, "And, huh, just so I can be prepared, then, what kind of things would you write yourself saying or doing in that movie, then?" Blaine doesn't look like he's freaked out or anything; on the contrary, he looks comfortable, if not teasing and interested.
"Well, creative writing is a long process you know. I'm not sure." Kurt says slowly, buying himself the time and courage to say what he really wants to say, "But, just off the top of my head, just a crazy idea, just to put it out there… I suppose I could, huh, I would kiss you… right now."
"Right now?" Blaine lifts his eyebrow, but grins, eyes alight with something that makes Kurt feel a little high.
"Right now." Kurt nods, throat suddenly dry.
"I'd watch that movie…" Blaine murmurs, putting down his coffee.
Kurt's pretty sure Blaine has just given him a green light for going over and kissing him – again – but Kurt can't seem to manage anything past an indecisive shuffle on his chair, and then the door opens and the woman steps inside, tells him he has two more minutes, and stays there, shuffling papers.
He's completely blindsided "Right! Of course!" he says, turning back to Blaine "Mr. Anderson-"
"Blaine." He interrupts with one of his charming, polite smiles.
"Blaine," he sighs, hoping it doesn't sound nearly as breathy and pathetic as it felt "Did you… huh… always… want to… huh… do a… project like this?" Is it a movie, or a new album, or play, or…?!
Blaine seems to be holding back some laughter as he ducks his head and then exhales "Yes, yes, I've always wanted to be in a film where I could… honor the amazing teachers that have crossed my path and helped me become the person I am today. I'm especially lucky to be working with some of the people I looked up to when I was younger, too. So really, I'm just so thankful for it."
"Oh, right, right." Kurt nods, feeling bit better "And who would you say your favorite teacher was?"
The door opens and closes and Kurt turns to see the woman has disappeared again and he sighs in a breath of relief. Blaine laughs, "Nice save…"
Kurt snorts "Yeah, right."
"I, huh, I'm sorry you got caught up in this… I… is there any way you'd consider waiting for it to be finished?"
"I'm not sure I can… I have a shift in a while, and… but…" Kurt takes a deep breath and steels himself "maybe you could meet me afterwards? For a late dinner?"
Blaine is smiling, which makes it completely confusing when he says, "I can't."
"Oh." Kurt nods, feeling the cold sweat of rejection covering him, and looking at his hands as he starts to get up. Blaine stands at once and steps around the coffee table.
"But I can cancel my plans for tomorrow…?" Kurt looks up to find Blaine startlingly closer "I can tell them I want to hang out with this waiter from the Spotlight diner …"
The whole conversation is making Kurt feel like he's on a rollercoaster with a record-breaking number of loops and dips. He feels himself breathe out a nervous chuckle, looking back down "They'd think you've gone crazy." He smiles, looking up at Blaine's smiling face "whoever they are."
He shrugs, "So, tomorrow?"
"I… huh, does anyone ever say no to these things?" Kurt sighs, not even trying to hold back how the whole thing makes him feel.
Blaine laughs and ducks his head, for a moment there looking almost as young and as nervous as Kurt, "You can. If you don't want to, you can say no. I hope you don't, though."
"Yes! Of course!" Kurt says and then his cell vibrates in his pocket and he remembers Mercedes and Sam's birthday party "Oh! No! I… I have a thing tomorrow… a birthday party, and my friends would kill me if I didn't go, it's the fist time we'll all be together since graduation – a lot of them are coming up to visit…"
"That's ok." Blaine smiles.
"I can't believe it… I can try to get out of it, but-"
"Kurt, it's ok, really. I can go. If you don't mind that is. I could go as your date. Right?"
Kurt stops in his tracks. Images of him stepping inside Mercedes' apartment with Blaine on his arm, everyone gaping at him… finally not being the only one alone and watching on the sidelines… "Really? You'd want that?"
"Parties are fun." He shrugs like that explains everything "I'll pick you up, shall I?" Kurt can only nod, "What time?"
"Eight."
"It's a date. Text me your address later." Blaine smiles, just as the woman opens the door and sticks her head in "Time's up."
"Right. Huh, thanks again." Kurt squeaks out, hoping his cheeks are not blushing too hard.
"No, thank you. I hope you found the interview to your liking." He says with a wink.
Kurt wants to laugh at that, feeling like this can't actually be his life, feeling he might just be on the Twilight Zone, "Yes, yes, I… I'm thrilled about it."
"Right then," The woman interrupts "Shall we?"
"Of course, goodbye."
"It was very nice to meet you, Kurt." Blaine says shaking his hand and letting it linger once more.
Kurt manages one look over his shoulder before the woman closes the door and says "Right, I'll just rush you through the others, shall I?"
"What?"
Fuck.