"Come on, come on, come ON!" Blaine chanted as the subway doors opened and passengers began shuffling out, Blaine among them. Once in the station, the dark haired, 21 year old broke into a run, darting through the crowd with his guitar in hand. He sprinted up two flights of stairs into the bustling, busy streets of New York City.
Two blocks later, the man reached his destination, panting and out of breath. He pushed open the doors and a blast of warm, sweet-smelling air hit his face as he left the cold, winter morning behind in favor of the toasty, homey atmosphere of the Caffeine Crazy coffee shop.
"Cutting it a bit close, aren't we?" a tall, blonde man said behind the counter as Blaine moved to stash his guitar and grab his apron.
"Sorry, Sam,'" he said to his manager. "I was just in Central Park and the lyrics just started coming to me. I just couldn't stop!"" Sam looked at the dazed expression on his friend's face and chuckled.
"Don't worry about it, man. We don't open for another ten minutes. As long as you don't make me face the morning coffee rush by myself, I don't care when you get here. What do you do in Central Park so early in the morning, anyway? And I swear if you say 'writing music' I will throw this coffee pot at you," Sam said, holding up the steaming pot of liquid. Blaine gasped and placed a hand over his heart dramatically.
"What did that glorious coffee ever do to you?" he asked mockingly, earning a handful of sugar packets thrown at his head, which the shorter boy dodged easily.
"Seriously, Blaine. It's cold and it's dark. Why would anybody want to go sit outside?" Sam asked, turning back to the coffee machines.
"It's so peaceful," Blaine replied. "There's nobody there so it's quiet except for the early morning birds and the breeze in the trees. It's just me and my guitar. It's perfect.'' Sam rolled his eyes.
"Whatever, man. To each his own. Just don't come ask me to go sit outside when I could be warm in bed at home."
"Don't worry, Sam. Your big mouth would disrupt the peace and quiet," Blaine retorted, dodging another handful of sugar packets as he went to turn on the 'OPEN' sign.
"Six a.m. and we are open for business!" Blaine cheered as he attempted to jump over the counter, only to get his foot caught and hit the floor with a resounding crash.
"Smooth move, Hobbit," Sam laughed, stepping over the man on the floor to help their first customer of the day.
By the time 7 o'clock rolled around, the shop was busy as usual. Sam and Blaine went through the routine motions of working the register, making drinks, and greeting the regular customers with a charming smile and a 'Hello'. Being a small, locally owned shop, most of their customers are college students from the university just up the street which is why, when an unfamiliar stranger walked in that winter morning, Blaine Anderson was quick to notice.
He walked in with a flurry of papers and frantic chatter as he was trying to juggle holding several binders, files, his messenger bag, and his cell phone. His hair was a beautiful auburn, perfectly coiffed, and he was clad in a gorgeous blue suit with a lovely peach shirt and bowtie. He looked out of place in the coffee shop, crowded with several college kids in torn up jeans and sweatshirts. The man made his way up to the counted and Blaine had to stop himself from gasping aloud when he saw the fashionable man's face up close.
He had impeccably smooth, porcelain skin stretched over perfect, angelic features. He had pink lips that looked so impossibly soft the Blaine wanted nothing more in that moment than to kiss them with his own, just to see if he was right, not that he would admit that to anybody if they asked. And then there were the man's eyes. In the few short seconds that Blaine had been appraising him, Blaine could have sworn that the stranger's eyes had changed color at least twice from a soothing green, to a stormy grey, to a bright, vibrant blue that left Blaine entranced.
The clatter of books on the counter jerked Blaine out of dreamland and back into reality and the man in front of him smiled as he looked over the many drink options. Blaine smiled back. He could hear a loud, distinctly female, voice from the cell phone the stranger held to his ear. The fair skinned man rolled his eyes and made a talking motion with his hands. Blaine nodded in understanding, after all, his roommates and two best friends, Wes and David, also liked to talk his ear off about pretty much anything and everything.
"Hold on a second, Rachel," the man said and Blaine was sunned into silence at the other's voice.
It was significantly higher than most men's but it had a musical quality that anybody would envy. It took Blaine a moment to realize that the auburn-haired angel was now speaking to him and he tuned back into reality just in time to catch the man's order.
"—a Grande nonfat mocha and a regular green tea with honey and lemon, please."
Blaine rang up the order and arranged his most charming smile upon his face as he replied, "Okay! That would be eight dollars and forty-seven cents."
The other man smiled and rummaged through his messenger bag, pulling out his wallet. Blaine quickly made the coffee and tea, marking them with a black sharpie to distinguish the two cups before handing them over to the fair man in exchange for a twenty dollar bill.
"Keep the change," he said, grabbing the two cups from Blaine's hands and picking up the items he had resting on the counter.
He turned and walked out the coffee shop's doors with a sense of grace and poise that seemed effortless despite the fact that he was once again juggling so many items, now including two steaming drinks. Blaine stared after him for a moment before catching himself.
Blaine shook his head. You don't even know if he's gay, he thought. Get a grip! One thing's for sure, however, if the butterflies in Blaine's stomach were any indicator, he was definitely interested in the beautiful stranger. Maybe even a little too interested.
Blaine pulled himself away from the inner debate between his mind and body as Sam walked out of the back kitchen area and asked him to refill the coffee grounds in the machines. Just as he turned away from the counter, Blaine's eyes fell upon a sleek, black, leather bound sketchbook. If anyone were to ask, he would deny it but in that moment, Blaine's heart sped up just a tad. Or a lot. He just knew it belonged to the man from a moment ago, and the thought exited him just a bit more than it should have. He grasped the book off the counter and noticed a small, gold plaque in the lower right-hand corner.
Kurt Hummel
Executive Designer – Vogue Magazine
Blaine just about passed out right there in the coffee shop. Kurt Hummel. Kurt Hummel. Kurt freaking Hummel! The executive designer of the greatest fashion magazine to ever be produced and the creator of Pavarotti, Blaine's favorite up and coming design brand, Kurt Hummel. Kurt Hummel was one of Blaine's absolute favorite designers, though he could never afford to do more than window shop on his meager coffee shop salary and the occasional music gig.
Blaine stashed the sketchbook under the front counter, hoping to forget about it as he tended to the other customers. Though his hands were kept adequately busy, the repetitious acts of making coffee and working the register left his mind plenty of time to wander. Not surprisingly, it was Kurt Hummel's sketchbook that kept forcing its way into his thoughts.