Notes: This is a re-write.
"Hey, Hummel! You polish those glasses much more, you'll wear holes through them!"
"Laugh all you want, Bret, but I'm pretty sure the people sitting in my section appreciate it when their cups are actually clean."
"That, or you need something to do with your hands!" Bret fires back, subtly making a lewd gesture before heading off to a booth with three bundles of silverware.
"Ha-ha," Kurt mumbles, but Bret has a point. He has been standing behind the diner counter for the past hour, wiping down glasses and silverware in an elaborate ruse to spy on a man in a blue hoodie seated at a booth in his section. It's not because Kurt has no other work to do. The diner has been hopping since the start of his shift. There have already been two birthday parties and three random sing-a-longs. They're expecting a group of twelve in a little less than half-an-hour, but Kurt is scheduled to leave in about ten minutes, so he should really be focusing on getting his section cleared of the loiterers, nursing watered-down sodas, who have yet to pay their checks.
But this handsome man, with his sunny smile that extends to his eyes, so rare in their weekday afternoon diners; his funky, retro manner of dress; and his charming haphazard curls; has Kurt absolutely captivated. To top it off, Kurt knows him. His name is Blaine. He goes to NYADA, same as him. It has been quoted by most of their professors and a huge portion of the student body that he's one of the most uniquely talented and charismatic students NYADA has ever known.
And Kurt knows for a fact that the man is gay.
From the first day Kurt walked into school and saw him strumming his guitar, performing one of his original songs in the student commons, Kurt has been trying to work up the courage to ask him out. This might be the perfect time. He can stroll over to his booth, ask him if he needs a refill on his Coke, strike up a conversation, slide him a complimentary slice of cheesecake, and stealthily write his phone number on the customer copy of the receipt. In his head, it sounds like a rom-com in the making.
However, Kurt has hit a snag. This man, who for all intents and purposes Kurt could describe as perfect (or, at the very least, perfect for him), has started feeding bits of his tuna fish sandwich to the pocket of his hoodie.
Kurt sighs. Only in New York.
Why? Why is it always the handsome ones that turn out to be so bizarre?
Kurt figures he should consider cutting his losses, hand the man his check, and let him go on his way. They've only had a handful of conversations at school as it is. Blaine probably doesn't even know Kurt exists apart from the fact that Blaine was the T.A. in the Intro to Mime workshop Kurt attended over Spring Break. Kurt tripped outside of his invisible box and bumped Blaine with his hip. They shared an awkward smile before Blaine went off to help another student tug on an invisible rope.
Not really the basis for a long-standing relationship.
But there's something about the way Blaine looks down at the pocket he's feeding, the soft smile on his lips, the crinkle at the corner of his eyes. Plus, he appears to be talking to it, or more to the point, cooing. Kurt is too curious, and before he makes the decision to stop pursuing his daydream of inviting this man out for coffee, he needs to know what's so interesting about that pocket.
Blaine is a Musical Theater Major. That might explain a thing or two. They do tend to be an odd breed.
Kurt walks around the counter and heads for Blaine's booth, hoping to catch him off guard. As he approaches, he cranes his neck to look over the seat, but his view of the pocket remains blocked by Blaine's elbow.
"Hey there!" Kurt says, coming up behind him with still no luck for a decent view.
Blaine jumps. "Hey!" he says, clamping his hand carefully over his pocket, shielding it from Kurt's view.
"So, are you just about done here?" Kurt gestures at the picked-apart food on the man's plate and his empty soda glass.
"Uh … yeah. Yeah, I'd say so," Blaine replies after a cursory glance at his table.
"Were you thinking about ordering any dessert today?" Kurt asks, stalling for the time he needs to come up with a way to unravel the mystery. "We have ten milkshake flavors, our Boston Cream pie is pretty popular, and we have an excellent New York-style cheesecake. Though, technically, I guess it would just be cheesecake since we're in New York." Kurt raises his eyebrows, hoping something he named sounds appetizing enough to make Blaine stick around a bit longer.
"No, not today, I think … uh …" Blaine gets distracted by his pocket when, to Kurt's surprise, it squirms. "If I can just get the check … please?"
"Certainly," Kurt says, politely ignoring the fact that Blaine's pocket mewled. He takes a step away from the booth, but he can't leave. He has to find out what's in that pocket; he just has to. Of course, prying could kill his chances with Blaine, if he ever had any, but he can't help himself. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but Kurt has to know.
"Hey," he says, standing closer to the booth than usual, blocking other waiters' view of Blaine and his pocket, "before I go, can I ask you a question?"
"Hmm?" Blaine says, a little tight, a little anxious
Kurt bends slightly to keep their conversation hush-hush. "What's in your pocket?"
Blaine stares back at Kurt with an expression of severe discomfort. "Uh … in my … in my pocket? There's nothing …"
"I promise, I won't tell anyone," Kurt whispers. He looks at Blaine with pleading eyes and an honest smile. "Please?"
Blaine sighs, a bit defeated, but he smiles back.
"Alright," he says. "But I'm trusting you. Not a word?"
Kurt puts two fingers to his lips and makes a locking motion. "Mum's the word. I swear."
"Okay. It's this little guy." Blaine pulls down the lip of his pocket, and a puff of orange fur with bright green eyes peeks out. The kitten looks at Blaine, then straight up at Kurt, and lets out a soft but poignant, "Meow."
"Oh my God!" Kurt gasps. "That is the cutest kitten I've ever seen!"
"Yes, he is," Blaine agrees, baby talking to the tiny creature and giving it a scratch underneath its chin, which it lifts to accommodate him. "I found him a few days ago, cold and hungry, limping on the sidewalk outside my building. So I took him in and fed him. I was going to take him to a shelter, but I … I couldn't do it." Blaine gives Kurt a sheepish shrug. "I just picked him up from the vet this afternoon. He has a broken paw, so I couldn't leave him at home to fend for himself."
"Of course you couldn't," Kurt says, shaking his head emphatically.
"Unfortunately, I can't keep him, either."
Kurt's head snaps from the precious ball of floof to Blaine's gloomy face.
"Wha-why not?"
"My roommate," Blaine explains. "She's extremely allergic to cats."
"Oh." Kurt watches the kitten close its heavy eyelids, its head drooping as it drifts off to sleep, surrounded by the warmth and comfort of Blaine's hoodie. "That's … that's too bad."
"Yeah, it is," Blaine says. "I don't have anywhere else to take him. Most of my friends live in dorms, and they don't allow animals. It looks like I might actually have to take him to a shelter after all."
"No!" Kurt thinks fast when he imagines this poor kitten, stuck in a cage, shivering in the cold, alone with no one in the world to love and care for it. Kurt hasn't been to a shelter before, so that's actually probably the furthest thing from the truth, but it's the first image that pops into his mind, and it sticks. "No, don't do that! You know, my roommate and I have been discussing getting a cat ..."
"Really?" Blaine asks, his eyes lighting up.
"Sure." Kurt bites his lower lip – something he does when he fibs, he'd recently discovered. But it's not entirely a lie. He and Rachel had discussed it. She wanted to get a cat for the loft, name it Macavity, and make it their mascot. On holidays, she envisioned the three of them wearing coordinating outfits and performing festive musical numbers from the fire escape for their neighbors, whom she was certain would appreciate the whimsy. Kurt, on the other hand, said that any animal that pooped in an open box of sand had no business being in their home. But he's not completely repulsed by the thought of a feline companion, to curl up beside him on the sofa during rainy days, or on his bedspread while he watched his late night Judy Garland marathons. This adorable munchkin, with his freckled nose and his melodious meow, might be just the cat to change his mind.
Besides, it came with the added bonus of a smitten former owner, who might be persuaded to stop by every once in a while.
"Plus, if you let me take this little guy home with me, then, you know, you could come by and visit him whenever you want."
Blaine looks blankly at Kurt, and Kurt wonders if Blaine thought that last comment was too forward. Or maybe he has no clue who Kurt is, the way Kurt originally suspected.
"You might not remember me," Kurt says, swallowing his pride. It takes a rather large gulp to get it all down. "I go to NYADA, too. My name's …"
"Kurt," Blaine fills in.
"You-you know my name?" Kurt chuckles, shocked at hearing this man call him, unprompted, by name. Suddenly, Kurt remembers he's in uniform. He puts a hand over the name sewn on his shirt.
"Oh," he says. "I almost forgot. It's on my …"
"Your name is Kurt Hummel," Blaine interrupts. "You got into NYADA with an audition Carmen Tibideaux sprang on you during the Winter Showcase, probably because she knew you would blow everyone away. But that was your second audition, if I'm not mistaken." Kurt feels himself blush at Blaine spouting off this information, as if he's been composing the history of Kurt's time at NYADA. "You also recently won Midnight Madness against your roommate, Rachel Berry - not that she stood half a chance, if I do say so myself. Yes, Kurt, I know exactly who you are."
"Well, I …" Kurt stutters, then settles for dumbstruck silence. And to think he wasn't sure that Blaine even knew he existed. "Alrighty then. So … what do you think?"
"I'll need to take a look at your home environment before I make my decision. You know, to make sure it's feline friendly," Blaine replies, a teasing smile on his face. He takes his wallet out of his pocket one-handed and slips his credit card from the top slot. Kurt can't stop staring, blown away by the enviable dexterity of his fingers. Blaine hands the card over to Kurt and winks.
He's a guitarist, Kurt reminds himself. And a pianist … and a violinist.
There may be no limits to what those talented fingers can do ...
"Of-of course." Kurt takes the card, forgetting that he hasn't even given Blaine his check yet. "I get off in a few minutes. We can ride the subway together."
"Sounds great! Thank you so much for offering to take the little guy in. It's a tremendous relief."
"You're welcome," Kurt says, heading for the register.
"And Kurt?" Blaine's voice stops Kurt mid-step. "You're a lifesaver."
Funny you should say that, Kurt thinks to himself, fiddling with the card in his hand, because you may just be a life ruiner.