Prologue
July
After it happened, Blaine Anderson sat down on the curb with his feet in the gutter and he cried. It was the type of cry that shakes your whole body, the kind of thing that starts in your shoulders and goes all the way to your knees. There were uncontrollable sobs, his legs pulled up and his face pressed into the knees of his formerly pristine blue jeans, the cuffs of his Brooks Brothers sweater (the first thing he'd grabbed to put on when they'd called him) pulled down over his hands, fingers clutching desperately. He needed something to hold on to, and it was the only thing available. At the time, it had felt like the only thing he had at all in the world.
Days later it had still felt that way, an unfathomable feeling that he couldn't shake away. He washed the sweater and put it back on; curling himself up inside of it like it was a cotton security blanket. It felt like that if he hid inside of it long enough then maybe, just maybe, it would swallow him up and the pain would go away.
His parents had come of course, because whether he liked it or not they deserved to know the truth. All the way to New York City from Westerville, Ohio they came to try and console him. After a few days though consolation had turned into vain attempts at coaxing him back home.
Just withdraw for the fall semester and come home. There's no shame in needing home at a time like this.
It's the best thing for you right now, sweetheart. You can always come back in the spring and start new. Or go somewhere else even, if that's easier. We just hate seeing you like this.
We know it's hard, Blaine, but at what point do you start picking up the pieces, honey? You have to start moving on sometime, don't you?
It went on for a nearly a week before Blaine finally put his foot down and insisted that it would be fine. That he could do this, that he would do this. Performing arts school had been his dream, and now with Nathaniel gone it was the only thing he had left at all. He had his music, his singing and his acting, and the last thing he felt like doing now was letting go of the one solid that remained.
He even refused their offer to help him move into a new apartment. He liked their old studio in the West Village, with its slightly warn but still comfortable and inviting furniture, and the little pieces of Nathaniel that still remained there. It was like the apartment didn't know about the accident, like it was always just waiting for him to come back. There was his book still on the nightstand with its page marker in place, his reading glasses sitting on top. It made Blaine ache to look at them, and it also made him absurdly want to laugh because Nate was always taking off and forgetting the damn things. There was his toothbrush still in the holder, his favorite coffee mug sitting untouched in the sink with the remnants of his last cup of coffee stuck like tar sludge in the bottom. His robe on the back of the bathroom door, his shaving kit tucked neatly inside of the medicine cabinet next to his prescription bottle of allergy medication.
This had been their home together for nearly two years, it was their place in the world, and while moving would have made the transition between what had been and what life was now much simpler, it just wouldn't have been right. So Blaine stayed and his parents eventually left and slowly he began to pick up the pieces. The pieces of his very shattered and now intensely fragile life, trying to glue back together what remained of himself to try and be at least somewhat whole again. Nathaniel was gone but he was not, and he knew he had to try and go on living. He just wasn't sure how he was going to do that, how he was expected to do that after everything. Still he knew that people did it every day, people far worse off than he was, and he had to dust himself and keep going forward.
There were bills to pay and rent to make, and soon there would be classes to attend and homework to keep busy with. In September there would be auditions for the fall musical, and now on his own he would need at least a part-time job to pay half of the bills, since his parents had promised to cover half of the expenses for as long as he was in college. When he and Nate had shared the place it was Nate who had been insistent on getting a job. He had liked to keep busy; he couldn't stand for his hands to be idle, and he wanted Blaine to have more time to work on his music. Now Nate was gone and there was no one else to bring in the money, so Blaine finally sat down on a Sunday morning with the paper and began his search.
He circled job after job, everything from waiting tables at dive diners to taking tickets at a nearby movie theater. There was one ad though that he circled in red, so he would be sure to notice it when he began making calls the next morning. It was for a place called Raising The Bar, a newer establishment about twelve blocks away from his apartment. The ad described it as an upscale breakfast diner that featured a coffee bar, as well as a selection of wines and beers. It was open until two a.m. every night, and they were in need of a pianist to provide live entertainment in the evenings. It seemed almost too good to be true, a place that would probably be able to work around his schedule at school and hopefully also with the fall musical, and where he could get in some practice with his music at the same time. Still it made him feel a little hopeful, something he hadn't felt at all since the end of June.
Blaine had no idea of what was to come when he circled that ad and tossed the paper aside to flop on the sofa in front of the television, which had fast become his new favorite hobby in place of crying, as he was quite literally all cried out. His world was already turned on end and whether he liked it or not, in less than twenty-four hours it was going to get shaken up all over again. For now though there were mindless reality shows, a frozen pizza thawing on the counter to be baked for dinner, and the comfort of his favorite sweater despite the fact that it was hot enough outside to cook an egg on the sidewalk. The inside of the apartment was cold, just like Blaine felt his own insides were, and that was where he drifted off to a restless afternoon sleep, curled up and alone.
Chapter 1
July
When Blaine had left the apartment that morning, it had seemed like a good idea to just walk the twelve blocks to the bar where he was applying for the pianist job. He hadn't gotten out in a couple of weeks to have proper exercise and what was passable for fresh air in New York City, but he quickly came to regret his choice. It was barely eleven and it felt unbearably hot, the stuffiness seeming to settle low to the ground and between all of the buildings, not a single breeze to be had. Three blocks in and he was groping in his pocket for the handkerchief he'd taken to keeping out of habit, wiping drops of sweat off his forehead. By the time he'd gone seven blocks his curls were wilting and the collar of his white button up shirt was absolutely soaked. The material was thin and he had rolled the sleeves up to his elbows but it wasn't helping. He could feel his good first impression going out the window as he stripped off his red and black stripped bowtie and stuffed it into his back pocket, undoing the top four buttons of his shirt to try and get some relief.
He looked, quite frankly, like a hot mess when he finally pushed open the door to Raising The Bar, instantly thankful for the blast of cool air that hit him in the face. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting, taking in the strange layout of the place once they had. In front of the windows were vinyl booths, like the ones found in most diners all over the city. There were also tables scattered around, each one with a small lamp in the middle to great ambiance in the evening. To the immediate left was a bar, the lights above it off to show it wasn't open for daily business quite yet. That's where the piano was, sitting nearby with a dust cover over it until it was ready to be used.
Turning to the right he spotted the coffee bar, with all of its machines and gadgets for making just about anything you could want, and behind the counter was the most attractive man he thought he had ever seen. He had a handsome face that was drawn into a frown, which meant a lot because if you could look good while frowning? Then you were most certainly gorgeous. His hair was very carefully styled, and beneath his dreary black apron he wore a nicely put together outfit, though all Blaine could really see were the olive green polo shirt and a pair of white suspenders, a gold pin in the shape of an owl wearing sunglasses attached to his collar.
Seeing him startled Blaine, for a couple of reasons. First and foremost it scared him to actually find the other man attractive and to actually take the time to look him over and appreciate it. He hadn't done that in four years, hadn't had to, and he felt a surge of guilt since Nathan had only been dead less than a month. Immediately he felt a tight restriction in his heart, the air not seeming to want to come back up out of his chest. Secondly he found that, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to stop staring now that he started. The man was the focal point of the room, it was like he commanded attention and Blaine couldn't help but give it, heart be damned.
He might have stood there well into the afternoon just gawking, but another face suddenly appeared in his immediate line of vision and cut off his train of thought. He actually had to take a step back because the woman was just right there, bright but somehow fake smile fixed in place as she pulled a menu out from beneath the hostess stand he hadn't even noticed.
"Hi, welcome to Raising The Bar! I'm Rachel, and I'll be your server this morning! Is there just one in your party?" She prattled off, speaking fast like she'd had one too many shots of espresso in her morning coffee.
It took Blaine a moment to get his brain back into gear, not quite catching up with everything going on around him as he began to speak. "Uh, yeah, it's just me. I mean, there used to be two of us, but there isn't now. Wait! I'm not here to eat. I'm sorry, shit. It's been one of those mornings," he said, tripping over his words. He forced in a deep breath, mentally trying to convince himself it was just the heat outside and not the guy at the coffee bar who had reduced him to the mental capacity of an empty soup can. "I'm Blaine. Anderson. Blaine Anderson. I uh, I called yesterday about the pianist job? I'm supposed to meet a guy named Joe here? We spoke on the phone; he said to come in any time before two."
Reluctantly Rachel put the menu back beneath the stand and nodded her head, looking a little put out at the fact that she was going to be missing out on a potential tip. "Alright, just have a seat over there at the bar and I'll go find Joe," she told him, stealing glances at her one lone table as she headed off towards the back.
Once she had retreated Blaine stole one last glance over at the coffee bar and noted that the guy was now gone, which brought him at least a mild sense of relief. That was one less thing to worry about after all. The last thing he needed while auditioning for a potential job was losing it midway through a song because some guy he didn't even know just happened to be nice looking.
Shaking his head he made his way over to the bar and pulled himself up onto a stool, resting his chin on his hand. He got lost in his thoughts, staring diligently at a bottle of rum that made a pretty ripple of color on the smooth wall behind it where the sun hit it through a half-shaded window. Was it okay to find someone else attractive now that Nathan was gone? He hadn't ever really paid other men much attention since they'd met in high school, at least not to any level of real consequence. How long did the grieving process officially last, and was there a set of rules for that that he didn't know about? Did a person wait six months? A year? Five years? Was he supposed to feel guilty for looking and thinking things like that, or was it okay now because he was, technically and physically, single?
Blaine was still pondering; his brow furrowed with thought, when there was a sharp tap on his shoulder. Whirling around on the stool he came face to face with who he assumed to be Joe, a somewhat stern looking man with a shortly cropped hair cut and a mustache. He was dressed business casual, and was holding a collection of papers on his hand.
"You the pianist kid?" Joe asked, his voice coming out just as gruff and heavily accented as Blaine had expected. He was tempted to ask him if he had grown up in Jersey, but he knew better than that so he just nodded. "Alright, well, sit down and play something then. I don't have all day to stand around; I got a business to run. If you're any good, you fill out these papers and you're hired. If you aren't, well, there isn't much I can legally do about you wasting my time."
Blaine just blinked and then obeyed, because Joe seemed like the kind of guy you didn't want to not obey when he gave you an order. He went to the piano and pulled off the dust jacket, lifting up the lid over the keys. Pulling out the bench he sat down, and then promptly froze in place. He hadn't actually thought this through, not even in the slightest. What kind of song did you play when auditioning to play in a bar that only served breakfast foods and dedicated an entire area to coffee drinks? Did people who frequented joints like this want show tunes, Sinatra, or something that ran the long line in between the two? Stuck there in his second epic mental battle of the day, he was about to tell Joe he couldn't when someone spoke up from behind him, amusement evident in their voice.
"You know, if it's an audition it kind of requires you to play something. I suggest Elton John, Joe's a big fan. Aren't you Joe?" The voice was somehow soft and sweet even while dripping with pure sarcasm, and Blaine's mind somehow immediately deduced exactly who it belonged to. His suspicions were confirmed when the guy with the owl pin moved around to the other side of the piano and leaned against it in a bored fashion, chin resting in his hand. He stared down at Blaine expectantly, making a little motion with his free hand. "Come on; play us a song piano man."
Joe rolled his eyes and pointed back towards the coffee bar, not looking the least bit impressed with either of them. "Don't you have something to do, Kurt? I don't pay you to stand around, I pay you to make coffee and serve people."
"Yeah, but you barely pay me to do that. I'm just checking out the talent, Joe. Take it easy," Kurt said, rolling his eyes in a way that said he was not intimidated by Joe or what he had to say. "I just want to hear him play, and then I'll go back to doing absolutely nothing, as this place is absolutely dead."
"I don't know why I haven't already fired you, Hummel," Joe grounded out between his teeth, clutching the papers in his hands a lot tighter than he had been before. So tight, actually, that Blaine noted his knuckles were actually turning white.
That got a laugh out of Kurt who stayed right where he was, leaned up against the piano like he had no intentions of going anywhere. "Please, Joe, really? We've been over this a million times. You can't fire me because then I'll file a civil lawsuit against you. You can't fire your only openly gay employee without that seeming a little bit untoward if you catch my drift. If you were going to fire anyone it should be Berry, I mean, she's just so happy. Like, all the time. I'm pretty sure she does drugs in the women's restroom, but this is not a fact I can neither confirm nor deny at present. I'm still investigating."
Blaine momentarily contemplated just letting the banter continue on, especially now that he had confirmation that Kurt was gay (not that it mattered in the long run), but he was actually here for a reason and it wasn't to sit idly by just twiddling his thumbs. Putting his fingers to the keys he just started to play the first thing that came to mind, triggered by Kurt calling him the piano man. You couldn't lose with Billy Joel on your side, right?
Either way it shut them both up, and they turned their heads in almost comical unison to look down at him. Blaine had lowered his head and closed his eyes, just putting himself into the music and out of the situation. It was the best way to focus and to keep himself from making any horrible missteps, and before he realized it the last notes were fading from beneath the tips of his fingers and he was startled back into reality.
It was Joe who spoke up first, plunking the now slightly wrinkled papers down on top of the piano and pulling pen from his breast pocket. "Alright, kid, you've made your point. Fill these out, and we'll get you started as soon as possible. The regular guy's last night is tomorrow, can you start after that?"
"Oh yeah, totally," Blaine nodded, a little stunned as he reached for the papers and the pen. "I have school during the day starting in late August, but I can definitely be here any night that you need me to be. Well, most nights, I have a prior commitment in the fall for school, but it shouldn't ever run me later than nine or so a few evenings a week."
"Sure, whatever," Joe said dismissively, waving his hand as he took a look around. Rachel was back at her table looking harried, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have to go clean up whatever mess she has created today. Just leave those on top the piano when you're done and I'll see you on Thursday."
Blaine didn't have a chance to ask any questions or even formulate a response before Joe was off and running. Blinking hard he just shook his head and glanced at the papers, relieved to see a fairly standard application that would require very little actual thought. He was set to start filling them in when Kurt spoke up again, leaning over the piano and lowering his voice.
"You may want to dress for the atmosphere when you come in on Thursday," Kurt informed him, a pleased look on his face. "You'd be surprised how many people like breakfast with their over-priced mixed drinks. Plus the pianist gets tips sometimes, and to be quite honest? You look like a puppy that rolled around in something at the park. I mean, maybe that works for you, I'm not saying it doesn't, but it's just a friendly suggestion. See you around, new guy."
Smoothing down his apron as he stood, Kurt didn't walk so much as he sauntered his way back to the coffee bar, sharing an amused look with Rachel who looked anything but. Blaine just sort of stared after him, wondering if he really did look that bad. Reaching up to pat his hair he could feel the way the curls had sort of puffed out as they had dried, and as his hand traveled down the back of his neck he could feel that the dampness from the sweat that had soaked his shirt was still there, just cold now that he was inside. He knew the material was thin and probably see-through when it was wet, making him look like an overly curious dog that'd dove right into the duck pond and had a good shake out afterward. Groaning quietly he filled the papers out as hastily as he could and left them on top of the piano, not even looking up as he left.
Maybe this had been a bad idea, maybe not. He thought about it as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and made his way back towards home, glad that at least a job had resulted from it if nothing else. Plus, if Kurt was a barista, he probably didn't even work nights, right? So no problem.
No, no problem at all.
As he climbed the stairs in his apartment building he silently cursed himself, digging his keys out of his pocket. Why did he care if Kurt worked nights anyway? It wasn't like they had anything to really say to one another, being as they had just met and it hadn't even been a proper meeting, or like he had any business even wondering about things like that.
"It absolutely doesn't matter," Blaine said out loud as he finally wedged open the slightly sticky front door, tossing his keys down on the hall table and sliding off his shoes. "I still love Nate, and you don't just stop loving someone because they're gone. He's just a guy, at some stupid bar where I'll work until I graduate. Or until Joe fires me, whichever comes first. It doesn't even matter, so why am I worried? And why am I talking to myself about this out loud?"
The only answer was the stillness of the apartment, a shock he hadn't completely gotten used to just yet, but he was getting there. As he shed his shirt and went for the shower he forced his mind to turn to other things, like classes starting and the musical and all the things he had planned. It was a few nights a week in a stupid bar playing cheesy songs on the piano. How bad could it possibly be?