A/N: Pretty much a fluffy friendship-that-will-turn-to relationship fic, with heavy emphasis on flirtation and food porn. Chapters will be fairly short and updates may be sporadic, as my main focus is still on my other WIP 'Counters' (this is just my brain's little holiday from that angsty AU).
Please let me know if you like this idea and want more by leaving a review!
Chapter 1: Black Garlic.
He pushes his still empty cart with one hand and pulls his phone out of his pocket with the other to check his grocery list. Everything here looks fresh and amazing, from the dewy salad leaves (situated on a water misting wall that sprays them with fresh water every few minutes to keep them fresh and clean) to the heard-of-but-never-before-seen stacks of daikon and earth-dirty salsify, but still, he's a student on a budget now, and has to stick to what he knows to stock his bare-ass shelves before buying exotic ingredients just so he can make exploratory meals for one.
It's a small dream, but a dream come true nonetheless. He's wanted to shop at Whole Foods ever since he first saw the Top Chef contestants racing around it when he was twelve – it looked nicer than any Wal Mart he'd seen: cleaner, fresher, fancier – not that he would've admitted it back then. He grabs some white onions, celery and garlic, the basics, along with a bunch of purple carrots, some crisp, damp mixed salad leaves and a few oversized bright red bell peppers before piling a couple of handfuls of chestnut mushrooms into a brown paper bag. He dumps them all into his shopping cart and stops to check the items off the list on his phone. Next stop: dried goods.
It's only grocery shopping, but he feels excited nonetheless just to be here doing it. He knows he won't be able to shop here all the time, but that's okay. At least he's not in Lima anymore; he's not a kid shuffling around Wal Mart with his Mom, he's not that fucked up queer tagging along with his Dad just to get out of the house. He's here because he wants to be, on his own. He's shopping at Whole Foods because he can. And he's doing it in New York fucking city. He's come a long way, and not just geographically. Given the year he's had, he's not going to let himself feel stupid for enjoying anything about where he is now.
As he attempts to navigate the various stands and stacks of produce with his cart, a hand-written chalk board catches his eye: 'Visit the dark side...try Black Garlic. With a hint of mellow molasses and sweet garlic tang, it's ideal in sauces, stews and risottos. Bag a bulb!' He was planning on making a quick mushroom risotto for dinner anyway; it can't hurt to try something new. He hesitates as he picks up the package, though, pretends to examine the writing on the back before mentally chiding himself for dithering over a two dollar impulse purchase. Fuck, he thinks and throws the item into his cart with aplomb, live a little Karofsky. He smiles to himself. That's why he's here, after all.
"Is that...black garlic?"
He stills and feels his smile fade. He doesn't turn towards the strangely familiar voice because he knows it can't be aimed at him. Instead all but buries his nose in his phone to see what's next on the list.
"David?" That voice again, then the feint touch of a soft hand on his forearm and, "Dave. It is you! What are you doing here?"
And there he is. All big, sparkly blue eyes and freckles – did he always have freckles? – high cheekbones and gravity defying hair. Kurt Hummel, in the flesh. He tells himself the dampness on his palms is just residue from the misted lettuce.
"Uh..." he looks back down at his phone, as if the words he should say might be there on his shopping list. If only there was an app for that, "Hi, uh, shopping, I guess. You?"
Kurt blinks back at him, lips stretching wider to broaden the smile he was already wearing, as he shifts so the handle of the shopping basket he's holding slides up and into the crook of his elbow. He looks down at his nails, "Oh, y'know, just..." His eyes rise to Dave's again and, for a moment, it looks like there's mischief there, like he wants to say something else but thinks better of it, "shopping, too. What I meant, though, was what are you doing buying black garlic, in Whole Foods, here in New York?"
"Oh," he feels his cheeks burn with embarrassment. Shopping? In a supermarket? No! Idiot. "Yeah, uh, I just got here yesterday. I start school on Wednesday."
"That's awesome David!" Kurt's face seems to light up in a way he's never seen before (well, maybe he's seen it once before, but that time didn't really count) and he's suddenly taken by how much the guy's changed in just six months – seriously, was he always this tall? – he looks like a man, now, instead of a boy. And, damn it, it suits him. "But, this is...I mean, of all the Whole Foods in all the world, right?"
"Right. Totally." Dave agrees, trying to school his features when he realizes he's grinning like the proverbial cat from a certain English county. "So, you're at, like, Julliard now or...?"
"It was supposed to be NYADA, but no. I'm actually not in school at all." Dave feels his eyes narrow at that and he sees Kurt's smile falter for a second, his eyes flicking away from Dave's, down towards his empty basket, as he continues, "I'm working, actually, which is even better. I have a six month internship at Vogue online."
"Wow," Dave knows shit about clothes, out of the closet or not, but he knows enough about fashion (enough about Kurt) to know that's got to be some kind of big deal, which makes him wonder more than a little about the subtle change in Kurt's demeanour, "that's amazing. You, uh, you deserve it."
"What about you? Where are you going to school?"
"The CIA."
"The...you're studying to be a special agent?" Kurt's eyes are back on Dave's, both brows raised in question and his smile returns, quizzical and lopsided in the way that dimples his right cheek. Dave tries and fails not to find it adorable.
"No – god, no – it's the Culinary Institute of America. I, uh, guess I thought I might try to be a chef."
Kurt looks surprised, but not unpleasantly. And that's a look he's a little sickened to realize he definitely hasn't ever seen on Kurt's face before. "That's...I didn't know you liked to cook."
There's a whole lot you don't know about me, he thinks with a sudden rush of unwarranted resentment. "Well, I obviously like to eat, so..."
Kurt giggles for a second then seems to realize what Dave might be getting at and stops, lips narrowing to not-quite a frown as he regards him with suddenly sad eyes.
Fuck, Dave thinks. Why would he know anything about you? You've been running away from having any kind of conversation with him for the last seven months. "I mean, I—"
"What happened to becoming a sports agent?"
Dave shrugs. "What happened to going to NYADA?"
"Good point." Kurt says and follows the words with a little burst of melodic laughter that Dave joins in with even though he's not sure why. They fall into a silence, after that, which grows uncomfortably long; heavy with the weight of their chequered past and the all the things still left unsaid. Just as Dave's is running through options in his head of what he should say to end the awkwardness that won't sound too clichéd ('Well, maybe I'll see you around!') or too creepy ('You look really great, it was really, really great to see you.'), Kurt shocks even his mind into silence when instead of goodbye he says with a renewed smile, "We should go get coffee."
There's another pause and Dave knows he must be looking at Kurt like he just asked him to blow him right there in the produce aisle. He has no idea how Kurt can still make him feel like this – like he wants to implode with shame and explode with excitement all at the same time – but, fuck it, he does. At least he can handle that feeling now.
At least, he thinks he can.
"Sure, that would be cool. I, uh..." he trails off and thumbs the screen of his phone, still clutched in a too-tight grip, to close the shopping app and look for the new number he never bothered to memorize (or share), "I have a new cell number, so..."
"I figured," Kurt says softly and takes a deep breath before going on, "but, um, there's a Starbucks right across from the parking lot out front if you want to...now?"
Dave knows it's a challenge. A challenge to accept, here and now, after all the times he didn't – couldn't – when they were still back in Lima. He tears his eyes away from his phone, where all the words and numbers on the screen seem jumbled and senseless now, anyway, and looks back at Kurt. He's smiling again, but it's small and tentative and he has a sudden, desperate urge to see it spread, to see those dimples come back and the twinkle return to those striking, more-blue-than-green-today eyes.
Shit.
His palms are still sweating and his heart feels like it might burst out of his chest, but, more than that, his legs feel heavy. Too tired by now from all the running he's already done. "No, that'd be..." awesomely terrifying "really cool. If you're not busy, or..."
"Not busy." Kurt bites his lower lip, just for a second, and changes his stance, letting the basket handle slip back into his fist. He steps a little closer and drops his voice, like he's about to share a secret. "Although my boss would tell you fashion never takes a day off, this fashionista definitely needs his and it would be nice to spend part of it catching up with an old friend."
Kurt's smile widens, brightens, and Dave feels his own lips stretch to match it. He nods.
"Meet you there in...what?" He eyes his wrist, looking at an imaginary watch. "How long do you need to finish your shopping?"
"Just, like, ten minutes? I was just picking up some essentials, so..."
"Oh, and black garlic is an essential?" Kurt raises an eyebrow again and presses his lips together to conceal a budding smirk.
Dave feels his cheeks burn and knows, as he speaks, that they must look as red as the bell peppers in his cart that he's suddenly staring at. "Not exactly, but, well, I guess I have to try new things if I'm gonna be any good at this." He manages to look back at the boy – the man – in front of him. "Being a chef, I mean."
Kurt nods and starts to back away. "Ten minutes," he says, nodding towards the exit, before lifting his free hand and wiggling his fingers in a little wave as he turns and struts towards the pyramid of citrus fruit on the opposite side of the aisle.
Dave abandons his list, shoves his phone back into the pocket of his jeans and makes a beeline for the register. With only a random assortment or vegetables, he has no idea what he'll have for dinner tonight but, for the first time in what feels like a long while, food is the furthest thing from his mind.
A/N2: I plan on taking a few liberties in this fic when it comes to locations and the workings of both the CIA and Kurt's internship, so...suspend your disbelief: anything is possible in the world of fanfiction!