- April 18th, 2015
From Unknown: What is it with tourists and always choosing the vilest options for footwear?!
To Unknown: I know, right?!
From Unknown: It's like, why would you wear that lovely blouse, with that beautiful skirt if you're just gonna use Nike running shoes with it!
To Fancy Random Person: Ugh. Nike sneakers. I've never found an aesthetically pleasing pair. Although, if we're being fair, I think the thing with tourists is that they choose their footwear keeping in mind that they'll probably spend their entire day walking. Thus, comfort trumps style.
From Fancy Random Person: What?! You're not supposed to be the rational one!
To Fancy Random Person: I'm not?
From Fancy Random Person: No. I'm the rational one. So when I'm being irrational you're just supposed to agree without questioning. That's the deal.
To The Rational One: I'm so sorry, I didn't realize. I agree wholeheartedly. Ban all ugly footwear! I'll start the paperwork for the petition right away.
From The Rational One: Thank you.
To The Rational One: BTW, I have no idea who you are.
From The Rational One: What?
To The Rational One: Yeah. So, either one of these options: 1) you have the wrong number. 2) I should have your number but forgot to save it/saved it wrong. 3) I gave you my number and forgot about it. 4) You texted some random number to vent about random footwear. 5) Creepy reasons.
From The Rational One: You're not Rachel?!
To The Rational One: So, option one? I am not Rachel. New options: 1) Rachel gave you a fake number and if that's the one I guess I'm sorry, dude(?). 2) My number has one to two digits different from this Rachel person's number.
From The Rational One: Option two. Ugh. She changed her number, to have a NY area code, and has the worst handwriting. And she's the bff. Not a failed pick up.
To Rachel's BFF: Good to know. Now I don't have to feel sorry for you. Although, I'm sure hypothetical Rachel would have had her reasons.
From Rachel's BFF: I'm pretty sure that's… offensive to me.
To Rachel's BFF: Oh, I didn't mean it that way. I just think that if someone doesn't give someone their number, there's usually a reason. Doesn't have to be a good one, though.
From Rachel's BFF: Okay. So, hum. Anyway. Thank you for joining me in my hatred of horrible footwear. I will now keep trying different possibilities until I find the person I need.
To Rachel's BFF: Do you think if I posted this on tumblr it'd go viral?
From Rachel's BFF: You can always try.
To Rachel's BFF: I'll keep you posted.
From Rachel's BFF: Thanks. Sayonara.
To Rachel's BFF: Tootles. I'm always here if you ever need to vent about ugly footwear (or ugly any item of clothing, really).
From Rachel's BFF: Thanks. Sanoyara, take two.
To Rachel's BFF: I could keep this going forever. I won't. Bye. Don't respond to this one.
From Rachel's BFF: Lol
To Rachel's BFF: Dammit.
From Rachel's BFF: No, for real. Bye, it was nice knowing you.
To Rachel's BFF: U2.
From Rachel's BFF: Ugh.
To Rachel's BFF: Come on! (I don't get the sudden hate on U2. They used to be the stuff of legends. Their last album drop was kind of… pushy, granted. But the old stuff, man. The old stuff)
From Rachel's BFF: Sure. I found Rachel. Off I go. Bye! REALLY.
To Rachel's BFF: BYE.
- May 2, 2015
To Rachel's BFF: We got respectably successful. Like some notes. Some people ship us.
From Rachel's BFF: I'm sorry what? Who is this?
To Rachel's BFF: Punch to the gut. Ouch. I wasn't even the one who wanted this, you know?
From Rachel's BFF: Who. Are. You?
To Rachel's BFF: That kind punctuation is always kind of awkward. Shouldn't it be question marks all around? Never mind. it's idiotic – I'm idiotic. But I said I'd keep you posted, so…
From Rachel's BFF: Oh! You're the NotRachel! I remember!
To Rachel's BFF: Yes! You're Rachel's BFF. Whoever she is. Anyway, ignore me. I just wanted you to know people read our conversation on tumblr and some thought it was funny. I'm tipsy.
From Rachel's BFF: Thanks! I'm glad they liked it. I hope you're now tumblr famous.
To Rachel's BFF: Yeah. Something like that. Thanks.
From Rachel's BFF: Glad to help.
- June 15, 2015
From Rachel's BFF: So, what's your opinion on Crocs?
To Rachel's BFF: Hi, there. How are you? Boooooooo.
From Rachel's BFF: I'm mostly good, but I was on the subway and this kid comes in, and she's wearing kid crocs, you know? Not nearly as vile when it's just a kid – their feet are tiny, the crocs are tiny – it's less offensive. Then her father (older brother?) comes in and he's wearing crocs too. Only his are normal sized, so absolutely hideous and honest to god barf colored. It made me think of you.
To Rachel's BFF: Flatterer.
From Rachel's BFF: :)
To Rachel's BFF: So, you've saved my number since the last time we spoke.
From Rachel's BFF: Yes. For situations such as this one. It's kind of comforting to know there's someone out there I can come to just to bitch about bad fashion choices – especially footwear.
To Rachel's BFF: I'm glad I can be of comfort and assist in these troubling situations. Makes my heart warm. I'm curious, under what name did you save this contact?
From Rachel's BFF: Why, obviously Shoes Venting Person. Who am I to you?
To Rachel's BFF: Rachel's BFF… but it changes sometimes.
From Rachel's BFF: Ugh, she already defines too much of my life. Change it!
To Rachel's BFF: Alright. I can change it back to The Rational One.
From The Rational One: Oooh, I like that.
To The Rational One: :)
From The Rational One: Until we speak again!
To The Rational One: Hasta la speaka.
- June 30, 2015
To The Rational One: What about those sneakers that have heels incorporated into them? Or those explicitly high heeled converse all stars?
From The Rational One: I'm barfing. You should never spring that kind of decadent horrible disgusting terrible imagery on any unsuspecting victim. Honestly.
To The Rational One: I'm sorry. I just had it sprung on me and needed to share the pain with someone.
From The Rational One: So we're switching roles, now?
To The Rational One: How about becoming equals?
From The Rational One: Okay. I can live with that.
To The Rational One: Also, can we branch out of shoes? Because I just saw someone wearing a bright orange shirt with red pants, and it wasn't any kind of cruel uniform. Nobody made them wear it.
From The Rational One: Oh. No.
To The Rational One: People make the weirdest choices.
From The Rational One: You can say that again!
To The Rational One: People make the weirdest choices.
From The Rational One: You are hilarious.
To The Rational One: I know.
- July 13th, 2015
From The Rational One: Okay, so here's the deal: I'm on a date, it's terrible. I need you to call me or text me – streamlike, a LOT. Make it convincing and something I'd have to leave the date for.
To The Rational One: Wow. Hum. Okay. I have to text.
From The Rational One: That's fine.
To The Rational One: Hey, Are you home? Did you forget to punch in the alarm code?
To The Rational One: Did you give Rachel keys again?
To The Rational One: Why aren't you answering me? Are you home or not?
To The Rational One: I need you to go home ASAP
To The Rational One: I mean it.
To The Rational One: The alarm system called. They said we had a possible break in. I'm on my way, but I'm not going to get there fast enough.
To The Rational One: SERIOUSLY
To The Rational One: ANSWER ME, IDIOT
To The Rational One: This is not a time to be polite on a date. GO HOME RIGHT NOW.
To The Rational One: I swear to god.
To The Rational One: If I get home and everything's missing and you're not even there.
From The Rational One: Okay. You can stop now! Thank you! You deserve some kind of texting Oscar. Thank you, really. Life saver!
To The Rational One: No problem. I'm all for solidarity. But what about the BFF? Couldn't she help? OHmygod, was she the date? (I'm trying not to die with anticipation! I want it to be her so bad!)
From The Rational One: NO! Stop wanting me and Rachel to fail at romance. Never happening, either part. But no, she couldn't help. She tried to talk me out of this date many times. I'd have to admit defeat.
To The Rational One: So you're gonna show her my texts too? Say the only reason you bailed on him was because your apartment was broken into. Does she know I'm your new roommate?
From The Rational One: No, because *she*'s my roommate and she knows there's no alarm system. I'm going to tell her he had to go to Siberia on an emergency about the polar bears (are there polar bears in Siberia?). I considered going with him, but my love for NYC is somehow still greater.
To The Rational One: Of course, that's totally believable! (Yes, there are)
From The Rational One: I'm sorry I disturbed your evening, tho. I just thought you'd be the person least likely to judge me, or that I cared less about judging me, tbh. You know, because you have no idea who I am.
To The Rational One: That's fine, really.
From The Rational One: Well, thanks again.
To The Rational One: No problem. Better luck next time.
- July 29th, 2015
To The Rational One: (image attached) help me choose?
From The Rational One: Oh my god. I can't even. They're both so perfect. I envy you.
To The Rational One: I know! But seriously, help me choose.
From The Rational One: Are you wearing anything black?
To The Rational One: Nop.
From The Rational One: The brown ones, then. They're more original. The black ones are amazing, but very classic. Unless you like classic…?
To The Rational One: I like classic. But I don't mind changing it up a little. Thanks :)
From The Rational One: My pleasure!
- July 30th, 2015
To The Rational One: Have you ever felt like someone was attracted to the idea of you, and not you?
From The Rational One: Not really. My first relationship I was definitely attracted to the idea of a relationship more than the person itself. I vowed never again. Is it something like that?
To The Rational One: Not really. Maybe. I'm sorry I bothered you, this is stupid.
From The Rational One: It's probably not stupid. It's okay. Bad date?
To The Rational One: One in a long line of many just as bad.
From The Rational One: Tough luck. I don't really know what to say. But it's been a while since I trusted smooth talkers. If they're not stuttering, then they've said it many times before – and not necessarily while practicing in front of a mirror, you know? I like to think that's why my blushing is endearing and not ridiculous – it's because it shows I'm authentic.
To The Rational One: That helps a little. Thanks. I'm just in a weird place in my life, I guess. I needed to hear something rational. Like… I needed to be reminded I'm not actually going to be alone forever, or something…
From The Rational One: Aren't we all? Of course you're not going to be alone forever. Your texts are very attractive – we can make one of those pacts where we agree to get together if we're single by the time we're 50. Unless you're already 50.
To The Rational One: I'm 25. (I'm actually laughing, but I didn't want to, because I was kind of feeling the pity party mood. Damn you.) (I guess your texts are attractive too, whatever that's supposed to mean)
From The Rational One: Okay, so that's settled. You got two and half decades to find someone, before I'm coming for you.
To The Rational One: Ahaha, maybe I *should* stop trying. Thanks! Really! I think I'm much better now. I can go turn off the Princess Diaries now.
From The Rational One: I'm just sad you wasted those shoes on a bad date. (I'm torn between judging or admiring that choice of pity party movie)
To The Rational One: Ha! Me too! Completely undeserving of that kind of beautiful design. Maybe next time. (you're admiring it. and it's slightly apropos to my situation.)
From The Rational One: You're the princess of Genovia?!
To The Rational One: YES!
From The Rational One: Gupta. Mm-mm, Mm-mm, Mm-mm. The queen is coming. Gets to me everything.
To The Rational One: That's what's apropos about it. My love for Sandra Oh. I really, really need to stop the pity party, though. I'm going to take a shower and go out for dinner or something. Moping is not the adult thing to do. Thanks, Rational One.
From The Rational One: Anytime.
- August 7th, 2015
Kurt is melting. Every possible window and door in the loft is wide open and he's lying shirtless on the floor. Still, he is melting, and he wishes he wasn't. He considers giving up on the magazine he's reading – holding it up is making him painfully aware of the single bead of sweat rolling down his arm, from the crease of elbow. On the other hand, it's an interesting article.
Well. Truthfully, 99% of similar articles he would have categorized as tabloid garbage. But those 99% weren't about Blaine Anderson and how his latest relationship had ended. He finished the, probably embellished, account of events and let the magazine fall to the floor with a rustle, laying his arms down far enough from his torso that nothing was touching on nothing. This way he could pretend he wasn't sticky with sweat.
He lets himself smile for a moment and indulge in the fantasy of bumping into Blaine Anderson in the streets and falling into a whirlwind of a romance. Not that the article changed anything – he had the same fantasies even when the relationships were there and well publicized. And whatever, it's just silly, idle fantasizing. Kurt's a 21-year-old adult, and he knows better.
The door to the apartment bursts open and Rachel stumbles inside, beaming and flushed.
"Say I'm your goddess!"
He props himself up on his elbows and looks at her dubiously, "Why?"
"Just say it." She insists, still beaming, dropping to sit down right by him.
"Last time I said it, I took it back quite fast," he points out.
"This time you're not going to take it back. Not ever. Tell me I'm your goddess."
He considers it for a moment before he rolls his eyes, takes a deep breath and shrugs, "You're my goddess."
She smiles triumphantly, "Guess who has an interview to be Blaine Anderson's new stylist?"
Kurt pauses. He doesn't move as he considers the directions this could be going. He squints his eyes, "If you say you, I'll personally make sure it doesn't happen, because not even that man can pull off animal sweaters-"
"You." She interrupts with only a slight annoyed glare at his words.
"What?"
"Yeah. You know how Santana's been trying to find me a new agent, and she met someone who works with Blaine Anderson's agent, and they've been looking for a new stylist because his old one had to move to LA, and I made her call that person, who called the other person, and you have an interview tomorrow. How's this for occupying your summer, and possibly counting as a curricular internship to get you out of classes next year?"
"Are you serious, right now?"
"Yes." She beams, "You have to take a portfolio with you, like a look book or whatever, I don't remember. And send in your CV before tonight."
"Holy shit," he gasps. "I'm going to meet Blaine Anderson?"
She beams.
Idle fantasizing. Right.
- August 8th, 2015
It turns out Kurt is not actually meeting Blaine Anderson (unless he gets the job), because the few glimpses he's gotten of the office his interview is supposed to happen in, there's no one else there except for a handsome, but decidedly not Blaine, man. He's sitting in the waiting room of some kind of agency (he imagines they're celebrity agents, given the reason he's here, but it's hard to tell), holding his portfolio close to his chest and trying not to feel intimidated by the other four people looking remarkably more professional and qualified, not to count the other three or so that went in before he did. For one, they're not hugging their portfolios, and their legs aren't shaking like a localized case of hypothermia. In front of him there's a woman with hair so straight and shiny he wonders if technology has advanced enough to Photoshop reality. The woman next to her is wearing the fanciest pair of stilettos Kurt's ever seen outside of showcases and shops he barely dares to go in, knowing they'll smell his e-bay deals on his clothes. There's only two men besides him, and they look a few years older. Kurt could swear their clothes are carbon copies of looks Blaine Anderson wore in the last few months.
He pulls against his collar, suddenly too tight.
The office door opens, a woman leaves, smiling politely and shaking the man's hand before leaving in a click clack of heels against linoleum.
The man interviewing them is Asian, with black, carefully styled hair and a professional smile on his face. He glances at something on a chart before he looks back up and calls, "Kurt Hummel?"
Kurt tries not give into a coughing fit before he stands on shaky legs and goes up to the man who holds out his hand.
"My name's Wes Montgomery, it's nice to meet you."
"Kurt Hummel." He breathes and stops himself from cringing. He clears his throat and adds, "Thank you for this opportunity."
Wes gives him a nice smile and points at a couple of chairs and a coffee table – not at the desk on the other side of the room. For some reason that manages to get Kurt a little more relaxed.
"So, Mr. Hummel, studying in Parsons?"
"Yeah. Last year, next year."
Wes nods, and jots something down, "And if you got the job, what would come first?"
Kurt feels completely on the spot. How did he not see this question coming? "Huh. Hopefully neither…? I was hoping that, when the time came, I could register this as some sort of curricular internship, which would mean I would be able to dedicate most of my time to it. But, I've juggled a fairly demanding vogue dot com internship and school for three years. The only reason I'm still not doing it is because my boss is on leave for a couple of years, because she wanted to go rediscover her self or something like that, and the person who's covering for her is… well, we have very different artistic views, and I'm rambling. I'm sorry."
"Who was your boss?"
"Isabelle Wright."
A smile flickers over Wes' face and he asks, "If I called her, would she tell me nice things about you?"
"I think so. I hope so."
Wes nods, but doesn't give much else in terms of reaction. "So, you know who I am?"
"Huh," Kurt's face is on fire. Positively on fire. "No…? I'm sorry, my friend got me this interview yesterday and I didn't have a lot of time to prepare."
"That's fine. Just checking. I'm Mr. Anderson's agent."
"Right. Of course."
"So, you do know this is an interview to be Mr. Anderson stylist?
"Of course. Yes. Absolutely."
"Which would entail planning his outfits and looks for most of his public appearances. We're also trying to find a person who'd feel comfortable being his personal shopper, and who'll keep the hairstylists from bullying him into bad hair choices. It's not like Blaine needs much help in the style department, but lately things have been a little hectic and he barely has time to sleep, let alone by a new shirt."
"Of course. Oh. Yes, I'd be… huh, interested in that. Absolutely, I love shopping. I'm great at shopping. I know all of the hidden spots, the best deals, I can- Oh, not that Mr. Anderson needs good deals, or anything. I'd imagine."
Wes chuckles, "Right," he jots something down, looks back up, "As far as work schedule, it's not particularly heavy, unless you'd be taking on different clients – I'm not sure how…?"
"Oh. No. I… I've never really…" he doesn't want to finish the sentence because he's pretty sure he's not suppose to admit he has zero experience with this sort of thing.
"So… can you tell me a little about Blaine's look, what you feel about it, what would you change and why…?"
Wes seats back and kind of just lets Kurt go on a spiel. And boy does he go on a spiel. It's a little embarrassing, possibly, if it thinks too hard about it. How much he gushes about the bowties and the bare ankles, and that sort of silly detail most people wouldn't care about or notice. He even goes on a tangent about admiration for Blaine starting his career unapologetically out of the closet, and never backing down from a conversation on that topic, before he catches himself, blushes as deep as he had at the start of the interview, and gets back on track, relating that outness to the man's wardrobe choices and bold statements, trying to drop designer names for a minute before he decides that's also throwing him off his game. All the while Wes just watches him, cracking a smile or even a chuckle every once in a while, nodding when appropriate, waving it off when Kurt apologizes for sidetracking; and sometimes leaning over to browse through the portfolio, brushing off any attempt Kurt made at contextualizing the looks presented.
"So… Yeah…" he finishes, a little lamely, "I guess I'd kind of love this opportunity."
Wes smiles, that polite, professional smile of his. But there's something more behind it – it makes Kurt both nervous and hopeful.
"Great, well. That's all I need from you. If you don't have any more questions?"
"No. I- No."
"If you could just leave the portfolio."
"I- what? I don't… I don't get to explain it?"
The professional smile turns into an actual smirk. "The fashion police doesn't ask for explanations when they're rating looks on the red carpet, does it?"
"Oh. Right- I. Of course."
"Don't worry, we'll get it back to you soon enough."
Wes stands and Kurt scrambles to follow, realizing for the first time that, beneath his suit jacket, he's completely drenched in sweat – he really, really hopes it's not showing. Wes opens the door and offers a hand, and Kurt takes it, trying to keep himself from asking what are his odds of getting the job. However, he could swear the shake and the smile he gets are more genuine than any of the other's he's seen while he was waiting.
He lets himself return and bid Wes goodbye before he turns towards the elevator, whose doors were miraculously waiting for him to ding and open. He jogs inside, jamming his finger against the ground floor button, and barely waiting till the doors were closed before he's yanking his jacket off, and unbuttoning his dress shirt sleeves.
"Wow." A voice says behind him and he jumps almost literally out of his skin, the elevator jostling significantly as he crashes with his back against the – blessedly cool – metal doors.
And just like that, he's looking at Blaine Anderson. Blaine Fucking Anderson, with the typical celebrity-incognito baseball cap over his curls, and a simple white shirt over beige shorts.
"Sorry," Anderson smiles and chuckles. "I didn't mean to scare you."
"No – I – Sorry – I didn't see you there."
"No, you were pretty determined to undress, I get it. I'm this close to paying for the air conditioning in this building to be fixed myself."
"I… Yeah." Kurt breathes and shuts his mouth because he's pretty sure the next work out of his mouth was going to be 'Hot'. Because that's definitely something that could be said about every aspect of this moment – from the actual temperature in the building, to the way one of the dreamiest male celebrities was standing there, smiling and looking cheerfully at him with those sparkling, big, hazel, doe eyes. How can someone be this gorgeous in person? It's definitely not helping.
Blaine Anderson gives him a sort of amused, awkward smile before turning to look up at the little square with the numbers tracking the elevator's descent. As it reaches the ground floor and the doors slide open Kurt steps a little to the side and mutters, "After you."
Anderson chuckles and shakes his head, "No, I- I was actually going to the floor you were in when you high jacked my elevator before I could get out."
"Oh." Kurt feels himself melting with shame. "I'm sorry."
Anderson shrugs, still smiling like this is the funniest thing that's ever happened to him, as he leans over to press the button to keep the doors open. "It could've been worse. You could've stripped completely down, and then I'd have to pay you for the show and I don't actually have that much money on me at the moment."
"I…."
"Anyway, I believe this is your floor."
"Oh right!" He scrambles out of there without even looking back.
As he drops on the first street bench he can find he realizes he's just utterly humiliated himself in front of Blaine Anderson. In front of the man he'd been interviewing for. He should probably call the office and tell them to disregard his application.
He even grabs his phone, but then he notices the insane amount of missed calls from Rachel and the fact that he was in that office for one hour and half, when the interview shouldn't have lasted more than twenty minutes. He didn't know he could feel even more embarrassed, but apparently it's possible.
He ignores Rachel's missed calls as he opens his texts.
-x-
From The Rational One: I'm like reasonably witty and articulate, right?
To The Rational One: Of course.
From The Rational One: Good! Thank you.
To The Rational One: Do you want me to change your contact name to Witty and Articulate?
From The Rational One: No, that's fine. I just needed an unbiased reminder. I feel better now.
To The Rational One: Sure thing.
-x-
Blaine slides his phone back to his pocket with a smile he's not sure is directed at the sudden particularly bizarre texts, or at the adorably hilarious exchange in the elevator. He decides it can be about both things just as the door to Wes' office opens. Wes spots him at once and walks over.
"Do you want to watch the last few interviews?"
"Not really," he shrugs, "I thought they'd be over by now."
"There was a slight delay."
Blaine considers his options. He could watch the interviews, but he'd really like to make his decision based solely on the portfolios and not on some puppy eyes and a pouty request he'd sure to be incapable of ignoring the same way Wes is. He could go back to texting his anonymous texting friend, but they only talk weeks apart, short random conversations that end as suddenly as they start, and this one kind of feels like it ended and maybe the texting friend would be peeved if Blaine insisted on talking. Besides, like Wes always says – Blaine's the one that needs to be careful here, and not encourage too much proximity.
"I'm going to get some froyo. Tell me when I can come look at portfolios," he decides, standing back up and reaching out to slap Wes' shoulder affectionately. On the elevator ride back down he tries to keep himself from laughing – he'd look a little idiotic, laughing alone in an elevator. But the poor guy had just seemed so out of it, and it was funny.
Blaine's not into the whole "getting recognized everywhere" part of fame – he doesn't think anyone is, at least after a couple of months of it – but sometimes it does get him funny stories. This definitely reaches the top three.
It doesn't even register that this guy could potentially end up working for him until he's outside passing by a street bench, on his way to the best frozen yoghurt place in the neighborhood, and the guy's voice reaches him.
"I don't know Rachel, I think I bombed the interview."
Blaine can't help stopping, sympathy washing over him.
"I talked for like an hour and a half. I think he was too polite to interrupt me, but I just prattled on and on and on. It was so unprofessional. And then, I get on the elevator, apparently steamrolling Blaine Fucking Anderson, and start stripping in front of him, get the shit scared out of me and just… I think the day was a disaster overall."
Blaine can't help smiling out of, let's say… amused fondness. The kid was kind of adorable. He checks his watch and jogs across the block. He asks for two medium sized cups with chocolate topping and tiny marshmallows before he jogs back, hoping the guy is still on the bench.
He smiles as he spots him, still there, still on his phone.
"I didn't even ask what the pay was like! I'm pretty sure that job interview 101! You ask about the pay and the hours because it makes you seem interested and responsible," he pauses. "Well, yeah I guess you're right. It was kind of hard to miss my interest in the job."
Blaine shifts his weight from foot to foot wondering if he should wait for the call to be over, or if he should just announce himself.
"Yes, of course he's dreamy."
Blaine clears his throat.
The boy glances up, "I'm not- Oh." He looks at Blaine with wide eyes before his cheeks go a deep shade of red and he plasters on a tight smile, "I'll call you back, Rach." He hangs up, fast and fidgety, and grips his phone with white knuckles. Blaine keeps himself from wincing in sympathy.
"Hi." He says instead, "I'm Blaine."
"Yeah, I, huh, kind of know that."
Blaine just smiles a little brighter and offers him one of the froyo cup. "I hope you like chocolate and marshmallows."
"Oh? It's- for me?"
"I wanted to apologize for scaring the living daylights out of you, in the elevator. And, I suppose, huh, kind of wish you luck on the interview?" he scrunches up his nose, because that's not exactly what he wanted to say, "Well – not actually wish you specifically good luck, because I'm supposed to be neutral for now, but… you know, how about I wish you good luck in general? Like, in life?"
The boy just stares for a while longer before he takes and deep breath, squares his shoulders and takes the cup with a small thank you. Blaine tentatively sits down next to him.
"So, if it's any consolation," Blaine starts, "the interview itself isn't very important. I'm actually just waiting for Wes to finish the interviews, so I can go look and the portfolios and create my own unbiased opinions."
The boy looks at him with a slight frown, "Then why have interviews at all?"
Blaine shrugs, "I didn't want to just go with some high profile stylist for the sake of high profile styling. I wanted to find someone whose vision I truly liked for myself no matter what. But I'm a sucker for charity cases. So, Wes is weeding out the emotionless fashion robots, and then I get to choose the portfolio that really, really speaks to me," he takes a spoonful of his froyo and smirks. "You know, it melts if you don't eat it."
The boy startles at that and turns back to his cup.
"What's your name?"
The boy glances up, "I thought you said you wanted to be unbiased."
Blaine can't help chuckling, "I won't look at the nametag on the portfolio cover."
"Kurt."
"It's nice to meet you Kurt." Blaine's phone pings and it's a text from Wes telling him he can come up. "Oh. Interviews are over. It was nice to meet you."
Kurt bites his lip, cheeks tinged pink, before he smiles and says, "So you're definitely not going to wish me good luck?"
Blaine laughs, can't help it. Kurt's eyes are very pretty like this, when he's smiling and they're twinkling. "I'm not sure I can answer that on a professional note, Kurt," he tips his froyo towards Kurt's, touches them in a sort of weird toast before he heads back to the building, vowing to himself that if Kurt doesn't get the job he's at least getting his number.
"So, those were fast." Blaine greets Wes as he walks over the chair and sits with his legs folded, still enjoying his not-as-healthy-as-people-make-it-out-to-be treat. He offers some to Wes who shakes his head.
"Two robots and two fanboys," Wes tells him pulling his own chair a little closer and he settles next to Blaine with the pile of portfolios. "Didn't really feel the need to encourage them."
"Okay – lets get this party started." Blaine cracks his knuckles before he reaches for the first.
Wes shakes his head and hands him another one instead, "I think you'll want to start with this one."
"The one to beat?" Blaine quirks his eyebrow.
"I have no doubts."
-x-
To The Rational One: My turn to ask for an unbiased thought.
From The Rational One: Go for it.
To The Rational One: Dating people you work or are planning to work with? Bad/Good
From The Rational One: Isn't that how a lot of couples meet? Can't be that bad.
To The Rational One: Thanks! (he blushes a lot. it kind of gets me smiling like an idiot)
From The Rational One: (You remember that advice from me? I'm touched. *I'm* blushing!) Of course. I'm always here for rationality. But – also in the name of rationality, I have to bring up the issue of sexual harassment lawsuits and corporate policies. Maybe you should ask your boss what is your work place's stance on that?
To The Rational One: (Now you're just trying to steal his thunder – you're jealous you're not getting me in 25 years) I kind of am the boss.
From The Rational One: My, oh my. Sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen. Na, I'm just kidding. I don't know. Depends on the person. Just don't be sleazy/creepy and I'm sure it'd be fine. Also, kudos on being the boss.
To The Rational One: You think so? Thanks.
From The Rational One: Yeah. It's all in the common sense. Just don't grab butts or boobs without consent.
To The Rational One: God bless. Hey, I met someone with a Rachel BFF today, too. I think it was bff. Might've been sister. Regular friend. No idea. But definitely knew someone named Rachel.
From The Rational One: Ah. You've spotted one of us rare, wild creatures – Rachelus Connessus. I hear that means you'll have luck in your romantic/work endeavors. Got get 'em tiger! Make sure you wear nice shoes, and they won't resist you, I'm sure.
To The Rational One: I always wear nice shoes. Are you going to change my contact name to Tiger?
From The Rational One: I am now!
To The Rational One: Ew.
From The Rational One: Fine, I won't. But only because you changed mine when I asked.
To The Rational One: Thanks! So, did your day improve with the reinforcement of your wittiness and articulation by yours truly?
From The Rational One: Actually, yes! Definitely got a little better after that. Definitely on the good side of the spectrum, as far as evaluating days goes.
To The Rational One: I'm glad.
From The Rational One: Scratch that. I just got a call with great news and now I must leave you to go celebrate with copious amounts of alcohol! Pray I don't drunk dial you! Xoxo
To The Rational One: Oh, I'm praying, alright (you can't see me but I'm doing the Mr. Burns evil hand gesture). Have fun! Upon your return home, drink lots of water and keep aspirin handy and definitely drunk dial me if you can!
-x-
From The Rational One: dunk test iz allu gey. I gave hoccuds. Its ubbeaaminf. I lik u. ur fubby. Ee shoild ve frirnda. BYe!
To The Rational One: wow.
From The Rational One: THSTS WHAR HEE SAOD!
To The Rational One: ahh, a that's what she said joke. This is so good! Thank you! But seriously. Aspirin.
From The Rational One: :DDDDDDDD
From The Rational One: aspirin and I are best friends now.
To The Rational One: that's nice. You know, I've put the best linguistic scholars on the case, but we haven't cracked your code yet.
From The Rational One: "Drunk text is all you get. I have hiccups. It's unbecoming. I like you. You're funny. We should be friends. Bye."
To The Rational One: this is the best morning of my life. (actually, no, I've had even better. but I'm still laughing pretty hard so it's up there on the ranking) I thought we *were* friends. We're getting together in 25 years, after all.
From The Rational One: this is the worst morning of my life. Although not really because the cause for celebration still stands. But. God. Anyway. Is that sill happening? Don't you have your work crush who blushes? I'm rooting for whatever makes you happy. Fuck. If I have to stare at this screen another second I'll go blind. I'll talk to you some other day when I'm not dying, and I haven't really embarrassed myself to every single person I've interacted with.
To The Rational One: We'll see about that crush. We barely spoke the other day, but I really enjoyed it so… Maybe you're off the hook. Maybe he'll hate me. I'll tell you when I know something. Get better :)
-x-
Thank god for weekends. Weekends available to cure hangovers and develop a coping mechanism to the thought of having gotten possible one of the most awesomest job a person in his position could ask for – in fact, a job a person in his position shouldn't have been able to ask for, if the world had worked normally and not given him a very unusual, but welcome break – but having also already embarrassed himself in front of his brand new boss.
At least now, Monday morning, he feels not only human, but semi-prepared for his meeting with said new boss and respective agent.
He stops at the given address and frowns. He checks to see if he's in the right place. This isn't an office space. This is an apartment complex. A fancy-schmancy apartment complex. The kind of place where rich people live.
He hesitates before he goes over, only to have a concierge actually open the door for him. The lobby alone is gorgeous and movie-like.
"I am here for Mr. Anderson…?"
"Name?"
"Kurt Hummel."
The man calls up, quite probably to Blaine Anderson's fucking apartment, and tells Kurt to go up – it's the penthouse.
The elevator could be made of solid gold and it wouldn't look more expensive.
From The Rational One: I am about to go into a parallel universe where awesome things happen to me. In case I never speak to you, I got lost in all the pretty and the awesome. I love this universe!
As the elevator dings open, Wes is already waiting with the front door to the apartment open. Kurt can feel his cell phone vibrating in his pocket with a reply from his texting friend, but he ignores it.
"Good morning, Kurt, it's nice to see you. Please come in."
He follows Wes inside to an open floor apartment with the most amazing decoration Kurt had ever had the opportunity of seeing. In the gigantic, comfortable looking couches are sitting three people – Blaine, fiddling with his phone (and putting it away as soon as he notices Kurt), a handsome, well-suited black man (and seriously, does Blaine make a point of surrounding himself with racially diverse attractive men at all times?) and a gorgeous back woman (okay, maybe just attractive people then) in a pencil skirt and an impressive head of hair.
"We thought we'd go over any question left, and make sure we're okay to move forward and sign all the usual things, the contract, the NDA,… etc etc." Wes tells him, "This is David, the publicist, and Jane, the lawyer."
"Oh, huh, hi!" he waves, a little awkward, but pushes through it, "I'm Kurt, the stylist. Hopefully."
He catches Blaine's eye as he says it, and tries no to blush under the smile he finds there.
"Well, take a seat, Kurt, so we can start."
Kurt doesn't stop paying attention until there's a pen in his hand and his signing his name on several pieces of paper. Once that's done, it's like something inside of him explodes, or implodes, and he just needs to be alone for two minutes and flail.
"Could I use the bathroom?" He directs the question at Wes and only remembers too late that this is actually (probably) Blaine Anderson's home.
Sure enough, it's Blaine's voice who says, "Sure, go through that door, and then the first on your right."
The moment he's closed the door behind himself, he collapses against it and breathes.
Somehow, he's Blaine Anderson's stylist.
He pulls his phone out to call Rachel and notices two new texts.
-x-
To The Rational One: I'll pray for your safety. But I'm glad you seem happy.
To The Rational One: I'm also about to embark on the adventure of working with someone who blushes and I kind of want to ask out on a date. Definitely breaking out my best shoes for it. Ooh! He's here, I'm out!
From The Rational One: Also praying for you! You go, tiger!
-x-
He calls Rachel and they squeal for a minute, before Kurt forces himself back to reality. When he comes back everyone's chatting and it's easy and relaxed, with glasses of water or even beer bottles in hand. Kurt notices the pictures on the walls and how these guys feature in a lot of them, which only leaves Kurt giddier. He realizes he might be part of those photos one day. He frowns as he notices a picture of Blaine and the boy from the article he'd been reading all those days ago (ages ago, really) – it's the first time he's thought about it. It seems odd, to suddenly remember Blaine's just been through a breakup – and if there are still pictures on the walls it really is as recent as the article said. He looks back to see if he can't spot any sadness in Blaine's smile – wondering if it's been there before and he just missed it – when he notices he's already halfway across the room towards Kurt, with a beer in hand.
"Can I interest you in an ice cold beer?" Blaine smiles. It definitely doesn't look sad.
"Thanks." Kurt blushes as he takes it. He hopes Blaine doesn't notice what he was looking at.
Blaine does. He opens his mouth a couple of times before he shakes his head and chuckles to himself.
"I'm sorry." Kurt finds himself blurting, and Blaine stops where he was going to finally say something and frowns with a smile. "For the… breakup. I, huh, I hope you're okay. I don't mean to… intrude or… but. Yeah."
Blaine's frown disappears and he just smiles wider, "Kurt, don't believe everything you read."
"Oh! So you're still together!"
With a laugh, Blaine shakes his head, "We never were. He's a good friend of mine. From high school, we were roommates through college, we shared an apartment… But we were never together. I haven't been serious with anyone in a long time. Just a whole lot of bad dates," he chuckles breathily and then frowns. Kurt think there's a faint blush on his cheeks, as he clears his throat and points back at the photo. "You're actually replacing his boyfriend."
"Oh." Kurt gasps.
Blaine's grinning, "Yeah. Those pesky rumors do get confusing sometimes. David must not be doing a very good job." He says, just as David walks by and in return receives a punch to his shoulder. He turns back to Kurt still laughing. "So, I was thinking maybe we could go out to lunch, or something? Get to know each other a bit, and talk about any ideas you might have, or…?"
"You should show him your closet!" Wes pipes up from where he's putting papers in his briefcase. Kurt's not sure but he might be smirking. "So he knows what he has to work with, so far."
The other two laugh. Blaine smiles, a little too bright. There's a definite blush now.
"Or that."
"I… I think I actually should look at your closet." Kurt cringes, because it sounds like such a dirty line, even though it's really not.
Amidst laughter and snickers the suits announce their departure, and shuffle out before Kurt can say much more than "See you around."
"Alright, so why don't we check out the goods, and I'll whip us something to eat, afterwards."
Kurt can feel his cheeks go a little hot, but he smiles and nods and follows the other man into the hallway, to the farthest door on the left. Thank god it's not actually the bedroom, or Kurt would've died from blushing too hard – can you imagine, stepping into Blaine Anderson's bedroom the first day on the job? It's just a good old walk-in closet that leaves Kurt breathless and itching to touch.
He kind of loses himself looking at everything and trying to take it in.
"Oh, either you or your old stylist really knew what they were doing – not that it's any surprise, I mean."
"I like to think it was a joint effort."
"Gosh, this collection of shoes is… magical." Kurt sighs. "Oh! I have a friend who I usually talk to about shoes, and he has this exact pair!" he chuckles as he picks up the gorgeous black shoes, "I told him they were a bit classic, but I think I might've been wrong. This detailing didn't translate very well into badly lit photographs."
When Blaine doesn't say anything Kurt turns around to find him staring with wide eyes and his mouth hanging open.
"What's wrong?"
After a full minute of stilled staring Blaine holds up a finger and pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, and starts tapping at it. A second after Blaine puts it down, Kurt's phone buzzes in his pocket.
He frowns, grabs it and opens a new text.
From Shoe Venting Person: You're shitting me.
Kurt stares at it for what might be an entire day before he looks back up.
"What? Wait – it can't- I- what?!"
Blaine messes with his phone again.
From Shoe Venting Person: You have got to be shitting me.
Kurt frowns and tries to wrap his head around it. He's still looking at the new text when Blaine finally speaks.
"Did you know?"
"What?"
"Did you know who I was this whole time? Was this just… some… weird-"
"What! No!" Kurt gasps, "Of course not! How would I even- No. I didn't. I swear."
Blaine's frown fades a little as he's still staring with a look of complete shock. Kurt's probably not looking much better. Finally, Blaine shakes his head as the corners of his mouth twist into the ghost of smile and he just collapses on the little couch in the corner of the room.
"This is insane."
Kurt can't quite get himself to reply because he's still trying to process the fact that for the last few months he's been texting Blaine. Fucking. Anderson. He starts running every single one of their texts in his mind.
"When you said we got tumblr famous?!" he gasps.
Blaine chuckles, disbelief still all over his features, but looking much calmer now – more amused than confused. "Relax. I just- I like to troll around tumblr, see what they're saying, read the fanfics… it's funny. No one knows who I am there."
"But you said we got tumblr famous – I-"
He smiles sheepishly up at Kurt, "I am tumblr famous. Just not as Blaine Anderson."
"Oh." Kurt breathes, "Good." He rubs the bridge of his nose and then, "Wait. You really think I'm witty?"
Blaine laughs – loud and from the belly, "Yeah."
"Surreal…!" Kurt gasps.
"Kurt," Blaine chuckles, his eyes twinkling with amusement and maybe even mirth as he looks up at him, "You do realize you're the person I wanted to ask out, right?"
"What- Oh! Oh! Holy fuck."
Blaine seems torn between bursting out laughing and blushing, so he does a mix of both.
"You- Oh my- I – forget everything I said about sexual harassment lawsuits. It's not true. And not relevant, and it's just dumb and stupid and ridiculous and yes please."
Blaine stops mid laugh. "Good," he grins. "Because between the texting, the elevator, and the job, I think the universe was definitely trying to tell us something."
"You know, I think I'm becoming best friends with the universe." Kurt breathes, stepping a little closer.
"So, do you want to go out for lunch, or…?"
"You said you'd whip something up," Kurt smiles, "I wouldn't mind helping you."
Blaine beams, jumping to his feet and starts back out the closet. Kurt waits two seconds before he follows. He needs that time to slap himself awake – when he doesn't wake up, he thanks every deity there ever was and he never believed in.
How did he not add this up sooner? In the bathroom he had every clue available and still… well, it's kind of a big leap for one's brain to assume the random person they'd been texting is one of the biggest up and coming celebrities ever, no matter how much of the puzzle fits.
Finally he follows Blaine outside. They're halfway across the hallway, when Blaine stops in his tracks, turns on his heel and presses their lips together in a rush of movement that has Kurt turning into goo.
Kurt and the universe? Best friends forever.
- Somewhere in the future
From The Adorable One: looking good.
To the Adorable One: Not as good as I'd be looking if you were walking the carpet with me.
From The Adorable One: Flatterer.
To the Adorable One: :D 3
From The Adorable One: That's not what's getting you laid tonight. You're getting laid tonight because you're looking damn fine and *I* made you look damn fine. You're getting laid tonight because of me.
To the Adorable One: The flaw in your logic is that if you did not want to lay me tonight, you could've put me in a garbage bag and not give yourself urges. So really, if I look fine it's because you wanted me to look fine. You wanted to want me. Which means you wanted me from the start. So I'm getting laid because I'm naturally irresistible.
From The Adorable One: No.
To the Adorable One: I love it when your arguments are compelling.
From The Adorable One: OMG, what are those monstrosities on Ariana Grande's feet?!
To the Adorable One: Deflect all you want but-Oh. Ew. (Yes I type exactly as I think, no editing to be witty whatsoever)
From The Adorable One: THEY JUST SHOWED A CLOSE UP OF YOU LITERALLY MOUTHING "OH EW" I LOVE YOU!