Hey.
Basically this is Kurt. He has never met Blaine.
I know exactly where this one is going.
Yes! Go Sea.
I do not own Glee.
CHAPTER ONE
One of the things that Kurt loves most about Manhattan is the astounding view from his apartment.
He revels in it, waking up each day to the sun dancing across the Hudson, weaving in between the rooftops of the smaller buildings and finally through his some-what excessively large bedroom window. His view unobstructed by buildings or even sheer curtains, as he makes a point of having them drawn to either side of the window before he falls asleep each night.
Kurt was never one to waste time, however even he could not deny himself just five minutes each morning, relaxing in between his charcoal satin sheets and white down-filled duvet and watching his city awaken.
Someone stirred slightly beside him, breaking him out of his reverie and bringing the heavy arm draped over his waist to his attention. The distraction—as his friend Lucas so eloquently labelled them—he had indulged in last night was buried somewhere deep under the expensive Egyptian cotton sheets, a sprout of blonde hair the only identifier for this sleeping body.
Kurt tried to wriggle out from under the blonde's muscular arm with little luck.
Great. He thought, now I'm running late.
It was a daily occurrence that him and Lucas would meet for breakfast and coffee at Norma's before parting for their respective high-rise buildings for work. He was only ever late when his "distraction" didn't leave, which meant that Lucas always knew what his college friend had gotten up to the night before.
And when Lucas knew that only meant one thing: lectures.
"Umm… excuse me… can you – uh – you need to leave." Kurt staggered, prodding at the sleeping figure in attempts to wake him.
Lucas always made fun of Kurt for his inability to get his distractions out of the house. No matter how often this was required—because sometimes they snuck out, preferring to save face—Kurt never got better at getting them out.
The figure started to wake, making confused noises and trying to moisten his dried mouth. He rolled over and started to pull the covers down from his face and look at Kurt.
"Mornin' babe." The blonde mumbled to Kurt.
Well this just got a lot harder, thanks for that. Kurt scolded himself for choosing someone as unfortunate looking as the blonde did.
"You have to leave now. Bye." Kurt said, a forced cheer evident in his voice.
"No – I thought – what? Leave?" The blonde's raspy voice repeated. It was undeniably sexy and rough, but to fuck him again this morning was terribly self-destructive, even for Kurt. Besides, Lucas would guess. So Kurt just looked at the stranger expectantly, waiting for him to roll out of bed and out the door.
"Do you even know my name?" The blonde asked him, looking somewhat hurt, but getting the hint and started pulling on last night's clothes.
"Names aren't important. Once you name something you get attached." Kurt said, cringing that his motto for things like this came from a green ball in an animated film.
The blonde, thankfully, dressed quickly which allowed Kurt to inspect him more. Perhaps unfortunate looking was a tad harsh. The guy was gorgeous when he was standing in his dark jeans and tight sweater, his blonde hair not pointing at awkward angles like most guys' when they've just woken up. His skin was pale and clear and his face was alight with an excitement that seemed to come deep within, almost as if he was reliving some amazing memories all the time.
"Its Jeff." He said with a nod, before pulling on his cloth loafers and letting himself out of Kurt's apartment.
Kurt got out of bed himself; hurrying to shower, fix his hair into a stylish quiff and change into a crisp white button down, slate grey suit pants and a matching vest. Fashion is Kurt's life, which is the main reason it took him a little over ten minutes to choose the black skinny tie over the maroon bowtie.
Throwing his brown leather satchel over his shoulder Kurt managed a quick glimpse of his reflection as he walked past the mirror by the door.
Another thing that Kurt loves about Manhattan is the constant shuffle of people.
He practically feeds off the stress and drive of everyone in the large city. He loves that everyone has a purpose—whether it be the merging of two major companies, the nannies taking their children to Central Park, or the walk of shame that made Kurt think momentarily of Jeff—and that in itself was exciting enough.
People watching is Kurt and Lucas' favourite topic over their skinny coffees, each of the friends trying best to out do the other on the ridiculousness of the story.
"That girl there, Kurt. I bet she's an aspiring writer from some small country town that we've never heard of, but just can't get her leeway in New York because everyone comes here to write. She's a cliché." Lucas remarked, easily knocking down Kurt's somewhat lame and cliché breakdown of the old lady sitting a few tables away from them.
"Perhaps I should hire her as my assistant. Did I tell you I had to fire another one? Everyone in this city is completely incompetent. When I ask for hot Starbucks, what should I expect?"
"Well, you'd expect to get it lukewarm what with their less-then speedy travel time and—"
"Lucas. Shut up. I should just get you behind that desk, however out of place you'd look in that building. At least then when I asked for hot coffee that's what I'd be getting."
Lucas knew that Kurt was very particular about his coffee. He used to drive all the way out to the Lima Bean. Lucas didn't know much about the Lima Bean except that the coffee there was apparently amazing, and it was all Kurt would talk about when he got too worked up.
"Kurt, honey, if you had asked for your coffee I'm sure I would've died of shock… your hair doesn't look as careful this morning, by the way. I was positive that even the Great Kurt Hummel would favour his hair over his routine." Lucas started, his suspicions confirmed by the dark blush that crept across Kurt's face.
"What was his name?"
"Jeff. Pretty excellent fuck, even for Night's standards." Kurt replied, trying to stop his face from turning so dark as he referred to the underground nightclub that he frequented, often returning with his distractions.
"I'm sure he was. You've gotten around quite a bit these days though, Kurt. Don't want to get a name for yourself in a city this small."
It was ironic. Every fashionable person in America, at the least, would know how Kurt was. He was a fashion icon, both controlling the fashion world in what he says to wear and what he wears himself—which were sometimes two completely different things. The fashionistas blindly followed his trends. He had learnt the tricks into picking the pieces from each designer brand so that what he said goes. He had perfected the ability to completely ruin designer's season line by raising his eyebrow.
"Terribly so, I really should slow down… I've just been really stressed out recently." Kurt said with a sigh. One of the advertisements he printed in last months issue had cost a company around five million dollars, and they decided they wanted the company that published his magazine to pay for it.
"Brunde's still trying to get that settlement, are they? I bet Elias-Clarke."
"You should be eternally grateful you're an environmental lawyer… this thing will be over my heads until Fall Fashion Week. No matter if that page spread didn't earn them what the shoes were apparently worth, I bet they still made more of a profit then what they would've made without me."
"Speaking of work, we should probably get to that." Lucas said with a sigh.
The two men stood, flattening down their suits and collecting their briefcases. Kurt had a sneaking suspicion that all Lucas carried in his was an apple, and just chose to carry it around to fit in with the other lawyers that teemed that building.
"How's that super cool case going, Lukey?" Kurt asked with a sarcastic smile.
"Sometimes I just wish that one company would accidently dig in the wrong spot or not pay for all their emissions just so I didn't sit around playing Solitaire all day. It's pathetic."
Exiting the café, they were greeted with a light wind that made them huddle into themselves as they said their goodbyes.
"Well, if you ever want to bring me a hot coffee, you know where I am." Kurt said, waving as he turned to walk—electing not to take the black town car that was parked on the road for him—towards the Elias-Clarke building.
Blaine stood amongst the chaos that had ensued as a reaction to a text. A text from Kurt Hummel's driver apparently, announcing the dragon-like editor's return.
It was almost like a scene out of a movie. The First Assistant's Blackberry buzzed, revealing that Kurt Hummel was walking towards the office, and this apparently was not a good thing.
Blaine had tried to pick up parts of conversations as he watched girls hurriedly pushing their feet into heels, the placing of glass Voss water bottles on almost every desk, messy foods were thrown into bins and covered with paper and all the coats that had been slung over the workers' chairs and desks were hanging neatly in a closet. From what he could tell, no one despised Kurt, but they did despise the stress that his arrival put them through every morning.
The Second Assistant, a more friendly-looking brunette wearing the new season Chanel boots that Blaine coveted for his cousin pushed Blaine into a chair behind another desk—why Kurt needed three assistants Blaine had still not determined—and they waited patiently for their bosses arrival.
At least I don't look out of place here. Blaine thought, swinging around on his desk chair childishly. He had been a well-dressed child for as long as he could remember. There were photos of him all around his parent's house of six-year-old Blaine in a green button-down and jeans, or eighteen-year-old Blaine in the black Armani tux that he'd worn for his cousin's wedding. Blaine had just always told himself that it came with the money that his parents had, but there was no denying that his impeccable taste had perhaps heightened somewhat when his parents accepted he was gay and, no that wasn't going to change.
Blaine's mother bought his Vogue from then on.
A movement from the Second Assistant caught Blaine's eye, and stopping him from swinging. Kurt had just strutted into the office, the glass French doors shutting behind him, cutting the four of them off from the hustle of the rest of the magazine. He walked into the larger connected office throwing his briefcase on his desk and flicking through the messages post-it noted on his large computer screen.
The First Assistant stood, carrying a tray of fruit into Kurt with a wide smile on her face. She looked genuinely happy to be there, and Blaine was impressed.
"Good morning, Kurt." She said, her smile never faltering.
Kurt noticed that his First Assistant—Annie—was always, almost unnaturally happy.
"People shouldn't be so happy so early in the morning, Annie." He replied, plucking a grape from the tray before gesturing for her to place it on his glass-topped desk and walking back into the smaller room with Annie close on his toe.
"I need you to call Chanel and tell them that their run through is being moved up to Friday morning… then call Finn and tell him, no for the last time no, I do not want Rachel to be hanging around in the clothing department if they come and visit… I also need you to confirm dinner reservations with—"
Kurt listed things at such a fast speed that Blaine was wondering how the First Assistant (was her name Anne? Anna?) managed to write all of it down legibly.
"—and I'm supposed to have someone recommended by Human Resources, where is she? And someone needs to make sure that the order for Voss has gone through so I don't have to drink Evian like last time. Who's that?"
Blaine stood, knowing that Kurt was addressing him even though he wasn't looking at him… or acknowledging him in anyway at all, actually.
"From Human Resources. Kurt, this is—"
"Blaine Anderson." He said with a smile.