A/N: Hello everybody! Before you read this I would just like to make a disclaimer that I have never visited New York City, so if there's any inaccuracies I apologize! But in the meantime, enjoy the fic!
Not for the first time, Kurt wondered what he would be doing if he was somewhere else.
Be it in a car like some of the other adults waiting outside the school, reading a book while listening to the radio softly. Or perhaps a bustling office with sketches of designs and outfits, people flocking to him for opinions and wisdom. Maybe the theater downtown practicing for the lead role, with curtains pulled back and stage crew hustling to the side, giving him room to perform a showstopping number.
Whatever his imagination pictured, it was definitely better than being the only adult here younger than thirty and leaning against a tree, looking down at his feet to avoid other curious stares from parents.
Once he made the mistake of looking up and got met with disapproving glare from a mother before he flushed angrily. Another time an older, single father waiting beside his own vehicle gave a wink to Kurt. That made Kurt keep his eyes down permanently. No way was he going to let that get in way again.
His head snapped up when the school bell finally rang. The doors were opened and children bearing backpacks hurried out like a stampede. He pushed off from the tree, watching the small kids run to their proper parents with huge smiles and excited stories about the day. Their mother and/or father would praise them and then lead them to their car.
Kurt sighed, forcing himself not to envy too much over an SUV and turn back towards the mob of kids, lighting up when he saw a certain one rushing right towards him.
"Daddy! Daddy, look what I made!" shouted the very energetic five-year-old, waving his orange paper above his head. His Captain America backpack bounced against his shoulders, his green and blue striped shirt had a ketchup stain on it, and he had the widest smile on his round face.
"Hey there, Maxie," Kurt said, managing a smile that didn't reflect how exhausted the day had already made him. He smoothed down his son's brown hair when he was near, taking a good look at the drawing. It seemed to be dry macaroni messily glued in the shape of an...animal? Maybe a favorite superhero? "Wow, that's awesome!"
Max's grin grew, and he handed the picture to his father before taking his hand, beginning the routine.
Thankfully, work was less than a few blocks away from Max's school. They stayed close on the sidewalk, Kurt holding his son's hand tightly as they wove around other New Yorkers-the phone talkers, the stroller pushers, the I'm-late-to-something runners. Max chatted about everything and anything, keeping Kurt up to date on every single event that happened today in kindergarten.
Kurt listened, nodding and making a comment now and then, but mostly focused on picking up speed. If he was late again...his boss wouldn't hesitate to yell at him in front of everybody.
He did let Max push open the door to the Spotlight Diner, and Kurt let out a breath of relief when he saw that the lunch hour had died down, only leaving a handful of booths occupied. Even at three-twenty in the afternoon, people got hungry. This was NYC, for god's sake.
The diner was retro themed, including a jukebox and a singing waiting staff. Five years ago this was the perfect job for Kurt from before his big break. Although, five years ago he wasn't a single father just scraping by.
"Kurt!" shouted Ronny's harsh voice from the back.
Kurt winced, ushering Max to sit at one of the bar stools. "I'm here! I'm getting right to work!" After making sure Max had out crayons and a coloring book to keep him occupied for the next couple hours, he rushed into the kitchen to hastily tie his apron around his waist. Next he grabbed his notebook and pen, tucking them in the apron pocket but unfortunately not getting away fast enough from the wrath of his boss.
As he stood there, taking the verbal abuse and fully aware that the other employees were listening in and watching, that Max was right outside those swinging doors, he again couldn't help but wish he was elsewhere. Whether it was a car or a quiet park or, hell, even a decent house. Just in a better place than this hellhole.
Not for the first time, Blaine unapologetically ignored his phone ringing.
Especially when he saw who exactly the caller was. He stuffed it right back into his suit pocket, cursing under his breath as he rounded the corner.
Why, of all days, was his assistant out of town? Why, in the entire world, was no one else available to get him his favorite kind of coffee? He was Blaine Anderson, for Christ's sake. Second son of Robert Anderson. Any idiot in this claustrophobic city knew who he was, and therefore knew Blaine shouldn't be going out of his way to get his own fucking coffee order.
Yet, as his older brother Cooper remarked after their wonderful phone call before Blaine left his penthouse, it was, "good to go out and enjoy the beautiful May weather!" Cooper didn't listen when Blaine explained he had a banquet to get to and that dad would kill him if he was late. No, he was just concerned about the weather.
Grumbling, Blaine squeezed through pedestrians and finally made it to the diner, pushing the door open and actually feeling a smidge of thankfulness when he saw the place wasn't too busy. Some old couples eating sandwiches, a few tourists fascinated even by the menu, and groups of hipster college kids huddled in booths. Fantastic, he can get in and out in no time.
There was this silver, 50s bar at the opposite end, with round leather stools to match the diner's theme. Blaine strode there, took a seat, sighed and waited impatiently for a waiter. Why Tina always got coffee here, he wasn't sure. It had the New York feel to it, and the food smelled great, but so far from the fifteen seconds he sat there, the service sucked.
"'Scuse me?"
The sudden voice startled him, although he soon discovered it just belonged to a little kid who had appeared next to him, holding a thick dinosaur coloring book and a fistful of crayons. He was staring fixated up at Blaine with big, blue eyes. While Blaine was a bit confused, the boy appeared very determined.
"Can you spell T-Rex? But like, the big word?" the boy asked.
"I-" Blaine blinked, a list of responsible-adult questions spinning through his mind. He shook his head to clear them and answer the patient boy's question. "Um. Sure, yeah. Tyrannosaurus?"
"Yeah!" He nodded enthusiastically and smiled up at him. The crayons were placed on the countertop while the boy flipped to a page in the coloring book, getting to a picture he had already colored. After slamming the book next to the crayons, he climbed onto the stool next to Blaine and pointed at the picture, "That's it! He's the T-Rex!"
Hate towards the inconvenient coffee trip transformed into adoration towards this cute kid, and Blaine found himself huffing out a chuckle at the picture. The outline was indeed a T-Rex, showing off its sharp teeth. But the boy decided that the dinosaur was made of purple and yellow scribbles, including curly orange hair and messy red eyes.
"Write it here," the boy instructed, pointing to the top of the page.
"Alrighty," Blaine agreed, grabbing the blue crayon and making a show of getting down to business: cracking his neck, straightening out his sleeves, getting the book situated correctly. He wrote the letters neatly, spelling it aloud under his breath, "T...Y...R...A…"
"Are you getting married?" the little kid asked, poking at his arm.
The suit was personally tailored and could pass as 'formal' (Well, according to his tailor, anyway) given its steel-gray color and purple-and-blue striped tie. Blaine didn't care whatever color or brand name it was, it's not like he was ever going to wear it again.
He did crack a smile and a short laugh, because of course that was the logic of a young child. Fancy suit equals marriage. Oh, god, if only he knew… "No, no. Um, I'm going to a big party," Blaine replied, returning to writing out the next 'N'.
The boy frowned. "Is it someone's birthday?"
"Nope. Just a boring dinner and lots of talking." O...S...A...
"Why are you going if it's boring?"
Blaine sighed. "I dunno, kid." U...R…
"My daddy says-"
"MAX!" shouted the second unexpected voice beside Blaine that day. He whipped in his chair, which caused his arm to collide into the keeper of the voice, who yelped as the drinks he was carrying went crashing down, drenching both him and Blaine.
Blaine jumped to his feet, mouth hanging open and utterly flabbergasted. Coca Cola and water became a puddle on his chest and the floor and...the very attractive waiter who was down on his knees, hastily grabbing the now empty plastic glasses while apologizing and cussing.
Immediately, Blaine crouched down to the floor as well, damn the suit. He awkwardly began scooping up the clutter of ice cubes, finding it very difficult to take his eyes off the flustered waiter because...wow.
He was tall and slender and had arms made from heaven, wearing the black and red uniform all the other staff had. His chestnut brown hair was styled in a swoop, a couple strands were falling over his forehead. Flush pinkened his amazing cheekbones, and those stunning blue eyes were flitting from the spilled liquid to Blaine's hands, then up to his face, and then they widened.
"Sorry," Blaine said to him after he remembered he had the ability to speak. "I didn't mean to bump into you, I-"
"KURT!"
The waiter-Kurt-visibly flinched at the sound of what Blaine presumed was the manager. Noise of a door banging open and footsteps marching near made them both stand up together; Blaine cupping a pile of melting ice and Kurt with his tray under his arm and glasses in both hands.
While the boy-Max, right?-had his blue eyes widened and hands clapped over his ears, looking at Kurt worryingly. Wait, didn't Max mention something about a dad-?
"You," snarled the white-collared, thick rimmed eyeglasses, and pudgy nose manager, glaring daggers right at Kurt. "Every time I turn my back, something goes wrong-!"
"Ronny, I'm sorry-" Kurt stuttered, his flush only growing from realization that every single person in the restaurant was now staring and the manager practically had steam coming from his ears.
"It was my fault sir, really," Blaine jumped in, activating the sophisticated charm superpower. He placed his free hand to his chest. "I'm Blaine Anderson, and this is my first time visiting your fine establishment. Well, and, just as I was about to lose hope about your service this man was on his way…" he motioned at Kurt, catching his eye and grinning, "and I must've gotten so excited that I lost control of my limbs." Blaine laughed, shrugging apologetically at Ronny the manager.
His name flickered some familiarity for Ronny, Blaine saw it in his eyes. The man humphed, looked back at Kurt and pointed at him. "Clean this up, now."
The two let out an exhale after Ronny spun around and headed back towards the kitchen. Max uncovered his ears and glanced between them, waiting for the first person to say something. Since Kurt was focused on steadying his breathing and staring down at his wet clothes, Blaine decided to be that person.
"Look, I really am sorry," he said, gently taking one of the empty cups from Kurt and plopping the ice cubes in it. Kurt seemed surprised at the gesture, but soon enough went back to the fumbling and embarrassedness.
"It's fine, I was-and-" he stammered, balancing the tray on one hand again and placing the glasses on top. "It was very kind of you to-but I'm really-"
"Let me make it up to you!" Blaine said quickly, hoping this leap of the moment wouldn't fail. Because, even though with a soggy apron and red cheeks, Kurt was incredibly gorgeous. "It's the least I can do, for ruining your clothes and getting your boss mad." He shot Kurt a charming smile, one that caused more blushing to the other man's face.
While Kurt was at a loss for words, Max lifted up the coloring book page with the partially written Tyrannosaurus Rex and a few stray droplets from the spill. "Look, Daddy! He helped me!"
So Kurt was Max's father...but as far as Blaine could see there was no ring in sight. The chances of a date was still promising.
Kurt narrowed his eyes at the boy. "You and I are going to have a discussion later about talking to strangers."
"Stranger? Oh yes, well, I guess I haven't properly introduced myself to you." Blaine restrained from holding out a hand (considering Kurt was busy holding up his tray) and instead placed a hand behind his back and another on his lower abdomen, making a small bow. "My name's Blaine, pleasure to meet you…?"
"Uh-" Again, Kurt was utterly stunned by his action. He eventually shook his head and composed himself, answering, "Kurt Hummel."
"I'm Max!" said none other than Max, hopping in his stool.
Blaine laughed while Kurt had another stern look for his son. Max giggled behind both his hands, and Blaine went back to his original statement, "So, how may I make it up to you? Coffee? Or how about dinner?"
Max was chanting, "Yes, yes, yes!" while Kurt looked rather torn, opening his mouth while no words formed and glancing at the kitchen door then back at Blaine. "I...I dunno. It's very sweet of you, but I'm kind of busy…"
"No problem!" Blaine promptly leaned over the bar, taking the blue crayon from before and jotting down the note at the corner of the T-Rex coloring page. Max was propped on his elbows, watching intently. When finished, Blaine stood, giving Kurt a wink. "Call me when you're free then?"
The waiter's mouth was still parted, and Blaine took that as a good sign. Even though the clock at one of the walls read he needed to leave now or else, he wished he could stay a little longer, be in Kurt's presence just a tiny bit more. Instead, he grabbed a fistful of napkins to dab the wet stain on the way.
"I hope to see you around, Kurt," he said, lowering his voice just a notch. Kurt closed his mouth, his lips making a small smile as he nodded.
"Bye!" Max shouted, waving up at Blaine.
Blaine waved back, making his way towards the exit. He caught Kurt's eye again before the man returned to work, and he waved at him too with a warm smile.
Pedestrians clogged the sidewalk like always. His phone most likely read 20 missed calls from DAD. Though none of that mattered because someone like Kurt Hummel existed, and Blaine might be seeing him again. And maybe even again, and again.
He couldn't help but have a spring in his step.