Disclaimer: I don't own Glee! It belongs to Fox and Ryan Murphy.
When Blaine was offered a job at Vogue, he was expecting lots of things, he was expecting harsh criticism on his fashion sense (which even he admits is kind of limited), he was expecting late nights and early mornings and he was expecting lots and lots of stress.
That was until he found out that he was only the assistant of the assistant to the big boss.
His job was answering phone calls. He was equal parts relieved and disappointed.
On his first day he spent much longer than usual getting his curls tamed and picking out the right bow tie. He took the subway and picked up his medium drip before walking up the posh grande steps to the building.
And so he began his new chapter of life.
Kurt Hummel had his life laid out in front of him, he was young and wealthy with a wonderful job and excellent friends and a supportive family.
So it should matter if he wasn't happy, right?
He had no right to be unhappy.
But then again, he reminded himself on the way to work in his Merc, being unhappy and just not happy weren't the same thing.
He was contented, he decided.
He sighed and told Reynolds to speed up a bit. With his job and everything he had very little time for his personal life, he hadn't spoken to so many of his friends in a while, only really speaking to Rachel because she was family now, but even then, their phone calls were rushed because the baby would start crying or drooling or puking or someone would come into the office to present a pitch or show him designs. And when was the last time he visited Ohio? His dad always told him that they knew he was busy and that he and Carole appreciated him taking time to call him them every weekend.
His father's comforting words eased the pain in his chest but they couldn't cinch the unbearable ache of guilt.
But, he reminded himself, the fashion world is a tough one.
And with it comes loneliness.
"Kurt," Quinn said, placing a cool hand on his cheek.
He hummed, not taking his hands off the sketch he was working on.
"You missed lunch, sweetie."
"You're supposed to call me sir, I am your boss."
She huffed, "You missed lunch, "sir", it's three, you need a break Kurt."
"Fashion-"
"-doesn't take lunch breaks, I know, I know, but-"
"Actually, I was going to say doesn't stop but by all means-"
"-you are getting skinnier and skinnier every day, you need a break, to recuperate-"
"What i really need Quinn, is more coffee."
She sighed and gripped the edge of his cold marble desk with a well manicure hand, "I'll send my new assistant out to get it then."
"I'll just have some of the strong muck from the machine."
She grimaced and started admiring her fire red nails. "Why do we still have that old machine anyway? Why don't you chuck it?"
"Fond of it, " he murmured.
"I can send my new assistant out to get a new one."
"Got another boy toy then have you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said nonchalantly.
"What happened to David?"
She waved her hand vaguely through the air, "Oh you know..."
Then, she exited before he could question her further on 'you know'.
Blaine was terrified of his new boss, who was, had he mentioned?, the assistant to the real boss and he spent his first day wondering what could make someone as cold and lethal as Quinn Fabray and if it was the big boss, Kurt Hummel then Blaine was in no real hurry to meet him. The first thing Quinn told him was that he was, under no circumstances was allowed to disturb Mr. Hummel unless, she stressed this part heavily, it is a matter of life or death. "Everything you want to say to him goes through me first, yes?"
He also spent his first day, running around New York, picking up letters and coffee and sending memos to different fashion houses and trying not to cry by singing showtunes in his head all day.
Much to his relief, he only saw Quinn and some other coworkers for the whole first week because Mr. Hummel was constantly shut behind his fogged glass door or going about the city meeting important fashion types.
He retired every day to his big apartment that his parents got for him and his dog, Min, who knows him so well and has been his only audience to listen to his long winded rants that always end in sobs and general bitterness.
Min was a stray dog of some mixed breed with grey splotches over her chic white fur coat.
And she was his best friend.
Blaine was having a bad day.
He had gotten up in the morning only to be faced with heavy downpour and a rock of dread in his stomach.
He poured the last of his muesli into a bowl and then covered in it milk which he realized pretty soon, had turned sour.
He turned on his shower to be greeted by the good news that the heater was broken, which shouldn't happen in such a high class apartment anyway.
He lathered on lots of deodorant and some eu de cologne his mom hat him for his 21st birthday which was (he remembered) 3 years ago, and hoped for the best. He gave a forlorn sort of wave to Min who gave him a sympathetic look (dogs are so intelligent) and gathered up the courage to step out of his apartment.
He took out his umbrella and braved the journey to the coffee shop down the road to have a better breakfast only to barrel right into a man upon entering. A very attractive man at that.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," the man said, his voice sweet and high, like an angel.
Damn, his glasses fogged up in the steamy air of the coffee shop.
"It's not your fault. In fact, it's probably mine." He said tightly as he wrestled the glasses off his wet face.
Blaine wiped them on his coat sleeve before slamming them back on to the bridge of his nose. The lenses where streaked with water from his soggy jacket but at least they were clear. He had to look at everything through fat drops of water.
The man giggled and used his bright blue scarf to wipe the droplets away.
Blaine blushed like a teenage girl.
The man's scarf was the exact same shade as his eyes, a bright, clear, crystal blue.
The man's hair was coiffed to perfection high above his head and not even damp with rainwater. His smile stretched to the corners of his face, crinkling his eyes.
"Let me buy you a coffee," he said, still smiling.
Oh , Blaine thought as they moved up into the line, I guess this day isn't too bad after all.
Quinn was not always an impatient person, but after several years at a fashion magazine she had learned to expect everything she wanted on time, simply because it should be.
So when her new assistant was late on the sixth day of his job, she didn't think of the rain or the traffic or any other probable cause for his delay, she thought of the fact that she had gone almost half the morning without her double shot espresso. She never, of course, even considered the fact that he could be with Kurt just because Kurt was late as well.
Her acid green fingernails tapped at her keyboard thoughtfully as she googled hipster tumblrs to see what exactly was in style amongst teenagers for an article she was in charge of organizing. And as the clock ticked by the seconds, her patience was seeping away like ice water through cracks in the floor.
She sighed. When Blaine finally arrives, she thought smugly, he is gonna face the wrath of Fabray.
Kurt sat down at a small table across from the gorgeous god he literally bumped into, cradling his mocha in his long fingers. He watched as the man took a little sip, looking up through his eyelashes at him.
Sinfully long eyelashes.
"Why don't I ever see you here? I come here every morning." the man said.
"Oh normally, my chauffeur takes me straight past the coffee shop and I get coffee at work," he replied.
"Wowee, you must have a good coffee machine at work to bypass this place."
Kurt ignored the way his body tingled at how adorable this man was with his 'wowee's and wondered if he sometimes fished out 'by golly' s, 'gosh darn's and 'what the heck's.
"Oh no, the coffee at work is disgustingly strong, but it keeps me awake, and, as nice as this mocha is, it will not keep me awake later on." he said, "In fact, my assistant's probably gonna find me sprawled on the floor."
The man laughed, "Where is it that you work?"
Kurt panicked, not wanting this amazing man to know that he is the Kurt Hummel, because once most people find that out, their attitudes change immediately. The become distant and awkward and he really just wants someone to know him without the big name and like the real Kurt, not the Kurt everyone thinks is a cold, heartless, vindictive, fashion designer.
"Uh," he paused, "It's this little fashion house called," he glanced around the cafe, "Passion..."
"Oh awesome, I work at this fashion place too, but I really want to be a painter so I thought that joining the place might give me some inspiration, you know, with all the models and a stuff, and don't get me wrong," he paused, rolling his hazel eyes, "i love the colors and the designs in the place but the vibe there is so tense and chilly, and my boss, she's second in charge basically, is a heartless woman and I'm rambling aren't I?"
Kurt laughed, glanced at his rolex, and choked on his coffee, "It's almost 10, oh shit, I'm so sorry I have to go."
"I'm gonna be brutally murdered for being so late, but I had a great time with you..." he trailed off, "did I get your name?"
"It's K-Chris...Hudson. Chris Hudson," Kurt said.
"Blaine Anderson," Blaine said, "Can I get your number, Chris, I'd really like to see you again."
After scribbling down phone numbers and a hurried goodbye, Blaine ran through the vicious down pour to the subway while Kurt called a cab.
Kurt knew he shouldn't have lied to him like that, he was gonna regret it later, he knew secrets aren't for free, they always come with a price.
Quinn was boiling with rage.
When Blaine waltzed in with a smile plastered to his face and his hair plastered to his head, she blew her top. Her long ten minute rant had Blaine wincing later at the mix of insults, threats and general reprimanding that had formed the long, humiliating lecture.
"I need you to go down to wardrobe and ask if they are done with the belts I told them to find for the show next week." she bit off tensely.
Blaine hurried out before she started a second round.
While he was down in the wardrobe floor, Kurt came in, greeting Quinn happily and settling down behind his foggy door to start on the new designs.
It was only later in the day when things had slowed down and Quinn had left for a photoshoot and the big boss was behind the glass door, did Blaine dare to unfold the scrap of paper and dial Chris's number.
His heart beat loudly in his ears as the call rang once, twice-
"...Defying gravity..." a tinny voice sang, from inside the boss's room. "...try defying gr-"
"Hello?" said a hopeful voice in his ear.
"Hello?" said a hopeful voice muffled by the forbidden glass door.
Blaine's brain short-circuited.
"Hello?" said the puzzled voice in his ear.
"Hello?" said the puzzled voice behind the glass door.
And just like that Blaine was up and out of his chair and stumbling into forbidden territory, deciding that yes, if he didn't find out the truth he would surely die a long and torturous death.
Once he was inside, he came face to face with the still stunningly handsome Chris Hudson, except this time he knew that the shocked expression came solely from a famous Kurt Hummel.
"I- Blaine?!"
"Chris?" he stammered, "I mean Kurt? Mr Hummel?"
Kurt's face hit the desk with a thud, "inushldfligheah" he murmured in dismay.
"What?"
He raised his head, "I knew I shouldn't have lied." he said, turning to the window.
Kurt's face snapped back, "Wait, what are you doing here?"
"I'm Miss Fabray's new assistant," he said loudly, "Why didn't you tell me you were Kurt Hummel?"
When Kurt was still slack with shock, Blaine ran a hand through his hair and dropped his head and groaned, "I insulted your office vibe too, oh god, oh god..."
And despite the awkward situation he was in, Blaine still managed to admire the way Kurt blushed while thinking, "By George, I am so screwed."
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