Disclaimer: It's not true, so don't sue.
There are 102 men for every 100 women on the planet.
Blaine is only too aware of this.
On the train to the doctor's office, there were precisely 46 men. There were 28 women. The men almost doubled the amount of women on the train.
Each bench on that particular train car was occupied by at least one man.
So he stood, clutching the steel bar, counting each breath like Nora told him to. He watched his reflection in the pole, taking in his pale complexion and frenzied eyes.
Seven, eight, nine, ten...
He hated the severeness of his tensing when the Man in the Red Sweatshirt sidled past him. He clenched his teeth together, closing his eyes, and kept his counting going.
When the train finally arrived at his stop, he had to steel himself from leaping off. He watched the train depart after allowing more men onto it.
He was alone on the platform, and he could breathe easily.
Nora's office was calming, most of the time. The walls were a glossy white, and the window on the easternmost side was large and always open. Miss Jessica was Nora's receptionist, most of the time. She had a head full of grey hair and a kind smile. Sometimes Janet, with her simpering voice, sat in Jessica's chair. But only at night, and only on Wednesdays and Thursdays.
Blaine sat on the black patent leather couch, futzing around with his corduroy-covered knees. He spent a lot of his time looking downwards. He always noticed the slightest difference in the ground at Nora's office, too. It was vacuumed earlier. The tracks were still visible in the carpet.
There was a sudden gust of air into the office, ruffling Blaine's hair. He glanced towards the open door.
Blaine was the only one in the office at 3pm, most of the time.
A tall woman walked through the glass doors, her dark plaid skirt swaying around her. She wasn't a classically beautiful woman by any means. Her jaw was square. Her hair was cropped short, barely brushing her ears, making her face seem even more pixie-like. But there was something about her that made Blaine follow her with his eyes.
She bent over the receptionist's desk, asking a question briefly. Her eyes flicked to Blaine's, and Blaine looked down hurriedly.
"Thanks so much, dear," Miss Jessica said tiredly, rising from her chair, its wheels squeaking a bit. "I'll be seeing you tomorrow, then."
"Thank you," the woman replied. Blaine glanced upwards to see the woman taking Miss Jessica's seat behind the desk. Alarmed, his eyes darted towards Miss Jessica, who was gathering her purse.
Miss Jessica was leaving?
The door created only a minute amount of air this time as Miss Jessica hurried from the door. The new woman reached down into her purse and pulled out a magazine with a heavily-contrasted picture of a skinny model in the front.
Blaine couldn't help but stare a bit at the woman, fascinated by the way her eyes roamed over the magazine's pages, the way the corners of her mouth turned up when she read something she liked.
Suddenly, their eyes met once more.
"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice saccharine, but Blaine could see that her eyes held a bit of a challenge. Blaine swallowed heavily.
"I'm sorry, Miss," Blaine apologized, and if anything the woman's eyes grew sharper. She opened her mouth but snapped it shut, seemingly having noticed something about Blaine's appearance. She scrutinized him shortly. Blaine could have sworn her eyes widened a bit in recognition. Blaine cleared his throat, both hands shaking terribly. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything. I... I wasn't staring."
"It's not a problem," she said shortly. She picked up her magazine and hid her face from him.
Another silent minute passed between them (Blaine counted each lonely second).
"Who are you?" he asked quietly, but the woman heard him clearly. She glanced at him for a moment before responding.
"I'm the new receptionist. Ms. Baley-Clarke is retiring at the end of the month, and Dr. Krugman asked if I could stagger my hours so her pa- so she could get used to me," she replied, coloring over her stutter. Blaine caught the slip. However, he wasn't offended; if anything, he was flattered. It meant that Nora knew how much routine mattered to him.
"...And your name?"
"It's Ku..." The woman coughed suddenly at that moment, glancing up at Blaine embarrassedly. "It's Kurt...ney."
"I-It's nice to meet you, Kurtney," Blaine said, attempting pleasantry.
"Pleasure's all mine," Kurtney responded, and at that moment, Nora opened the door and strolled in.
"Blaine, you're here early once more," the brunette woman said with a kind smile. "Let's get this party rolling, shall we?"
Blaine nodded and stood from the couch. He glanced back at Kurtney, who was once again immersed in her magazine.
He smiled briefly and followed Nora into their talking space.
"Your day was all right so far?" Nora asked, her tone far more pleasant than Blaine could hope to achieve. Blaine nodded briefly, accepting the tea that she offered him. "Anything in particular?"
"I met Kurtney."
"Kurtney?" Nora looked confused, and Blaine mirrored her look. She tilted her head at him. "Who's Kurtney, Blaine?"
"Your receptionist," Blaine responded, gesturing towards the door. Nora's eyes slid to the door and back to Blaine, her eyes alight with something he couldn't identify.
"Oh, yes, Kurtney. The new receptionist. I'm used to her last name, I've been seeing it before her first for such a while now," Nora explained.
Blaine glanced towards the door suspiciously and back at Nora, whose face he couldn't help but trust. He nodded once more, and their session began.