Sometimes the most significant encounters of our lives happen in the spur of an impulse. A magnetic pull which makes us turn our heads and decide on the flip of a coin or a "Why not?" more often than not without being aware of it ourselves. Some say destiny, some say luck; in any case it's never accidental. For one very important man that which made him stumble upon one of these peculiar circumstances was something as simple as a young boy. The man's name was Kurt Hummel and he never looked back.
It was a late summer afternoon the day Kurt Hummel found himself strolling down an unfamiliar road in the great city of San Francisco, California. The sun was slowly descending on the sky, casting that ethereal golden light that subtly makes everything seem lovelier, and families and old couples were roaming the streets in the search of food and wine. Tiny shops and cafés framed the small street on each side in a friendly competition for customers and in the distance the faint sound of a harmonica playing could be heard. Kurt was new to the city, just having been transferred to 's San Francisco department, and while he knew very few people and missed New York dearly he would admit that he could see himself falling in love with the city. However, being on unfamiliar territory and not having finished furnishing his tiny apartment he too was in the search for a place to dine.
He had just reached a joining point of four streets when a young boy of maybe fifteen years of age stepped in front of him, blocking his way, with an innocent smile and a mischievous, determined glint in his eyes.
"Good evening, sir. You look hungry," he said, brushing his black hair behind his ears. He had an Italian accent that matched his olive complexion.
"Nicely perceived," Kurt replied with a smile. He was charmed.
"Excellent," the boy said, "I know just the place. Cheap and delicious, just follow me."
Kurt, amused, trailed behind the boy a couple of paces until they reached a medium sized restaurant called Tubino Nero. It was in a mute shade of green with white windows and a disarray of red and white flowers decorating the outside. It was lovely.
"My name is Amo, by the way," the boy said, leading him inside of the restaurant, "what's yours?"
Kurt, distracted by the warm, welcoming atmosphere of the place that simultaneously managed to be soothing from the uncharacteristic warmth outside eventually stuttered an answer, "I'm Kurt."
"Well Kurt, why don't you just sit down here and I'll bring you the menu," Amo said, gesturing to a worn out but soft looking red booth in the corner. "Not that you'll need it. You'll have the spaghetti. They all do." And he was off.
Kurt, after thorough convincing from Amo, had wound up with the house's specialty and after practically licking the plate clean sat back in his plush seat with a blessed sigh, sipping his red wine. It was rather late and most of the other customers in the restaurant had cleared out. He could hear the clatter from the kitchen and smell the hundreds of roses that adorned every table. Amo eventually came back with the check and noticing Kurt's satisfied expression grinned;
"Good, eh?"
"That was the best thing I've ever tasted," Kurt sighed, placing a hand over his stomach.
"That's what they all say. Hold on, you should meet the chef," Amo said and then, seeming to deliberate him for a second before a smirk crept up his handsome face, said: "Yes, you should definitely meet the chef, hang on – HEY, BLAINE?" Kurt started at the sudden loud yell. The door to the kitchen burst open, bathing the dining room in the smell of fresh tomatoes and spices.
"What is it, Amo? Is everything alright?" a man dressed in white asked worriedly as he hurried over to their table. Kurt gulped and immediately sat up straight in his seat. The man was, hands down, the most stunning creature Kurt had ever seen in his twenty-seven years of life. Broad shouldered and tan with a head full of the softest looking dark curls and long lashes fanning his face; toned arms and a two day old scruff on his strong chin with bright, golden eyes that went from nervously looking from the smirking fifteen year old to the empty plate before eventually stopping at Kurt. The man's nervous stuttering ceased as his eyes met Kurt's before slowly trailing them up and down his body and eventually reaching his face again with a bright blush painting his cheeks.
"I - Hi," Kurt said breathlessly, running a hand over his hair nervously.
"Hi," the ridiculously handsome man answered, unconsciously licking his lips. Amo considered them both with raised eyebrows before excusing himself, although not before poking Blaine in the ribs with a stern look.
Silence settled over them for a minute before Kurt cleared his throat and managed to smile.
"So… you're the chef then?" The man nodded dumbly. "The spaghetti was really amazing."
A happy, proud smile lit up the chef's face, "Thank you so much. It is my grandpa's recipe." Seeming to get a grip on himself from the praise, the man gestured to the seat opposite Kurt, "Mind if I sit?"
"Not at all," Kurt answered shyly and held out his hand, "My name is Kurt."
Taking Kurt's hand in his own, strong, warm, amazing, perfect hand the man let his thumb run over the back of Kurt's hand causing his breath to hitch. "Blaine."
After a few seconds too long they let their hands fall.
"It's Italian," Blaine said. Kurt, who had been busy studying the perfect slope of Blaine's upper lip, blinked confusedly.
"What?"
"The spaghetti," Blaine explained, biting his lip and picking at a napkin. "I used to live in Italy and my grandparents used to make it for me."
"Oh," Kurt answered dumbly. Italian. Sexy. Sexy, sexy, sexy. "So this is your restaurant then?"
"Ah, yes," Blaine said proudly, meeting Kurt's eyes again, "I make the food and Amo, that's my cousin, is in charge of the customers."
"Well, I'll have to thank him then," Kurt said, feeling his cheeks turn red again.
Blaine looked at him with an incredulous, happy expression, opening his mouth to answer when Amo once again appeared in the kitchen door.
"Dishes, Blaine," he said with a pout before disappearing again.
"I have to go," Blaine said, reluctantly standing up and brushing down his white apron.
Kurt nodded and rose as well, "I should get going too. Thank you for the meal, Blaine. It was truly fantastic." He smiled at him and turned to head back out in the street when a hand tentatively grabbed his wrist. Kurt felt his heart speed up, hyper aware of Blaine's warm touch on his skin as he turned back, afraid that he could feel his too-quick pulse.
"Will you come back?" Blaine said, an almost undetectable trace of desperation to his voice, "Saturdays are live music night."
Kurt let out a breathless laugh, "I would love to come back, Blaine."
Blaine let out a breath, relief evident on his face, and in a moment of courage raised Kurt's hand to press a light kiss against the back of his hand, "Good night, Kurt."
And as Kurt walked back to his small, empty apartment, with a huge dorky grin on his face, San Francisco had never looked more beautiful.