Chapter Two: Ay, There's the Rub
A/N: Last time on "The Boy Next Door": Kurt's new neighbor, Blaine, has a lot of late-night visitors. They only stay for about an hour – and they pay Blaine for the time they spend there. This leads Kurt to one conclusion…
To Rachel: I think the guy in 5B is a prostitute
Ten seconds later, his phone rang.
"Oh my god, Rachel," he rushed out without so much as a "Hello."
"Kurt, did I read that right? Did auto-correct change your message?" Rachel asked.
"No. You read it right. I think he's a prostitute, Rach."
"Come on, Kurt. Are you sure?" she asked, her tone incredulous.
"Hey," Kurt said defensively. "Didn't I support you when you thought that the woman at the laundromat put a hex on you?"
"That was different, Kurt, and you know it," she retorted. "Anyway, you promised not to bring that up again," she added, sounding a little hurt.
"Sorry."
Rachel sighed on the other end of the line. "So what makes you think he's a prostitute?"
Kurt laid out the facts as he knew them, from the first knock to the conversation he'd just heard.
"Well," Rachel said after he was done, "I don't know if you have a prostitute for a neighbor, but I think Blaine has a stalker for one."
"I am not a stalker, Rachel!" Kurt exclaimed. He immediately looked toward the door when he realized how loudly he'd spoken. After all, if he could hear sounds from the hallway… "I am not a stalker," he repeated in a tone that was more like a stage whisper.
"I don't know," Rachel said teasingly, "you spend an awful lot of time keeping track of who comes and goes from his apartment. You stand there, looking out the peephole watching him, Kurt." When Kurt was quiet, her tone softened. "Okay, so maybe he is sleeping with people for money. Is he bothering you?"
"No," Kurt said sullenly.
"He's a decent neighbor, right? He's polite when you see him, no loud parties, stuff like that?"
"I guess," Kurt conceded. He felt the need to add, "I never thought you'd be so nonchalant about this, Rach."
"Eh, being in New York has made me sophisticated," she said dramatically.
"You date one gigolo and suddenly you're Samantha from Sex in the City," he quipped.
"I'm ignoring that," she huffed. "I'm not saying I approve, but as long as he isn't doing you any harm, I wouldn't worry about it. It doesn't sound like the people coming to see him are trashy or dangerous-looking, from what you described."
"No," Kurt said, "they seem like relatively nice people, from what I have seen."
"Actually, he must be a pretty high-class hooker if he has regular clients coming to his home. I mean, it's not like he's out on the corner in booty shorts and a mesh tank top."
"Rachel!" Kurt said, scandalized. "Where do you get this stuff?"
Rachel just laughed indulgently. "Sorry, I couldn't help myself. Listen, seriously. Stop worrying about it. Do your job. Work on your book." Taking a more encouraging tone, she added, "Perhaps consider ending your strike against dating and finding someone else to occupy your time."
Kurt thought maybe she was right. God, he hated that.
xoxoxo
Knock knock knock
Kurt almost didn't get up until he realized the knocking was at his own door, not Blaine's. He looked at the clock – it was a little after 8:00 p.m. He wasn't expecting anyone. Huh.
Rising and crossing to the door, he looked out the peephole before opening it. His breath caught in his throat when he saw Blaine standing on the other side. A wave of panic surged through his stomach as Blaine knocked again. With a deep breath, he thought about what Rachel had said, and realized that Blaine really had been nothing but a good neighbor so far, and seemed like a nice enough person. He probably had no real reason to be concerned about opening the door. Right?
With a hand that he would deny was trembling, he unlocked the door and opened it.
"Hi," Blaine greeted him with a friendly grin. He was holding two grocery bags.
"Hi," Kurt answered tentatively.
"Um, I hate to ask," Blaine said, shifting one of the bags on his hip, "but I am hoping you can help me out. I locked myself out of the apartment and my cell is dead. Can I use your phone to call the building manager?"
Kurt blinked owlishly for a second, processing Blaine's words while trying not to be overcome by how incredibly handsome he was. This was the first actual conversation they'd had. He finally got a good look at Blaine's eyes, and felt his heartbeat pick up just a bit at the golden shade of hazel that practically sparkled, even in the dull light of the apartment building hallway.
The hallway. Right. Blaine was standing in the hallway with groceries asking to use his phone and waiting for an answer.
"Yeah – yes, of course," he finally stammered out, stepping aside and waving an arm towards the room. "Please come in," he said, hoping his voice didn't sound as shaky to Blaine as it did in his own head.
"Thanks," Blaine answered gratefully, passing Kurt and entering the apartment. Kurt closed the door behind him and took a deep breath to calm his inexplicable nerves. It's not like you've never had a man in your apartment, he admonished himself. Yes, but you've never had a…
He spun around when he heard Blaine clear his throat tentatively, as if trying to remind Kurt he was there.
"My phone," Kurt said absently, slipping his phone out of his pocket and holding it out before realizing that Blaine's arms were still full of grocery bags. "Oh, here," he said, pocketing the phone and reaching out. "You can put those here," he said, taking one bag and leading Blaine the few steps to the small kitchen table.
Blaine's smile was genuine and charming. "Thanks, Kurt," he said.
Kurt smiled in return and pulled out his phone again. "I've got the manager's number in here," he said, scrolling through his contacts as a thought hit him. He looked sharply up at Blaine. "How'd you know my name?"
"Mrs. Moskowitz, 3F," he replied with a wink. Kurt nodded an "of course" and handed over his phone with the manager's contact information on the screen. He then blushed madly as he wondered what in the world Mrs. Moskowtiz had told Blaine about Kurt. "I'm Blaine, by the way," he added, holding out his right hand.
Kurt took the hand offered and shook it. It was warm, and strong, and absolutely did not give Kurt a fluttery feeling in his stomach. "I know," he blurted out. When Blaine arched an adorable triangular eyebrow in response, Kurt finished hesitantly, "Um, the other night in the hall…your, um, fr-friend, Sebastian, I think? He called you Blaine."
"Oh, right," Blaine responded without a hint of embarrassment at the memory of their run-in. He then turned his attention to the phone when the building manager finally answered.
A few moments later, he finished the call and returned the phone to Kurt. "Well," he said with a sigh, "it looks like it will be a little while before I get into my place. The manager is at another building right now, and won't be able to make it here for a couple of hours. He said I could call a locksmith, but I'd have to pay for that out of my own pocket, and at this hour, there's no guarantee a locksmith would get here any sooner. Plus, since it's after hours, it would cost me a fortune." He ran a hand through his unfairly gorgeous, curly hair.
"I hate to ask," he continued, looking up at Kurt guiltily, "but I have some dairy and cold stuff in my grocery bags. Could I maybe," he faltered, gesturing toward the refrigerator.
"Absolutely! I've got plenty of room," he said, hustling the bags off the table and setting them down on the counter before opening the refrigerator. "Is it okay if I…" he trailed off, motioning towards the bags before removing anything.
"Sure, that would be great. Thanks so much. I really appreciate it," he said gratefully.
"No problem," Kurt replied, quickly unpacking and storing the necessary items in his refrigerator. Organic milk, juice, a couple of nice cheeses and fruit – the guy ate pretty well for someone who…Kurt cut off that line of thought immediately.
Closing the fridge, he turned back to his guest, who was looking around the apartment with interest. "This is a really nice place you have here," he said with admiration. "I haven't had much time to decorate yet, but you've done a great job with a small space."
"Thanks," Kurt answered with a smile. He had worked hard to make his tiny apartment seem homey and inviting. It hadn't been easy.
"So, I, um…" Blaine muttered, seeming to find it difficult to find his words. "Look, I don't want to be an imposition. I can just chill out in the hall while I wait for the manager. I've got my iPod." He retrieved the device from his pocket and started walking toward the door.
"Wait!" Kurt called out, following close behind. "Blaine, wait," he repeated, catching the man by the arm. Blaine turned around, and if Kurt unnecessarily left his hand resting lightly on his arm, Blaine didn't seem to mind. "You don't have to wait in the hall. That's silly. You…you can wait here."
"Kurt, I…" Blaine began to argue.
"It's fine. Really. I'm not going to have you sitting out in that hallway for hours. That's ridiculous."
Blaine rewarded him with a smile that lit up the room. "Kurt, thanks so much. That's so sweet of you."
Kurt gave his own smile in reply. "Come on, have a seat," he answered, leading Blaine over to the couch. "Can I get you something to drink? Have you eaten?" he asked.
"You don't have to…" he was cut off by a look from Kurt. Rubbing the back of his neck, he huffed out a laugh and looked down at the floor momentarily. "No, I haven't had dinner, but I'm fine. Just some water would be great."
Kurt rolled his eyes and went to the kitchen. He chatted with Blaine idly from there (the apartment had an open floor plan, so it was easy to speak between the kitchen area and the living room) and returned to the couch in no time. He had a tray with two sandwiches, salads, and two glasses of iced tea.
"Kurt," Blaine began.
"I hope this is okay," Kurt interjected. "I wasn't expecting company," he said with a shy smile.
"This is fantastic," Blaine replied, his voice soft. "Thank you."
"Oh, I also brought this," Kurt said, holding out his phone charger.
"You're a lifesaver!" Blaine exclaimed. He brought out his phone and Kurt pointed out a nearby outlet where he could plug in. When the phone screen lit up and showed the time, Blaine cursed under his breath. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I just realized that I have to cancel an appointment for later. Forgive me, I just have to send a text and I'll put this down, I promise."
Kurt knew that he flushed scarlet at the mention of Blaine's "appointment" but tried to act nonchalant. "That's okay. You don't have to apologize."
"No, no," Blaine answered, his thumbs moving rapidly over the screen. "I make it a point never to text or use my phone when I'm with company. It's just rude."
Kurt couldn't help looking down and smiling. He was "company." Adorable.
"There. All done. Now we can feast," Blaine said, setting aside his phone and picking up his plate from the table.
They ate and talked a little, not really delving into anything too personal. They laughed over their experiences with Mrs. Moskowitz, and Kurt told Blaine about the previous residents of his apartment. Blaine proudly held out his foot and showed Kurt his bare ankle, proudly stating that he almost never wore socks, so Kurt was safe on the whole sock/sandal front.
Finished with dinner, Kurt put his plate down on the table and went to turn toward Blaine, wincing when he felt a sharp pain up the back of his neck.
"Are you okay?" Blaine asked quickly, looking concerned.
"It's fine," Kurt said, rubbing the offending area with one hand and waving Blaine off with the other. "Just a crick that I've developed while I've been writing these past few weeks. Guess my posture isn't the best when I'm hunched over a laptop all night."
"Wow, you're a writer? That's amazing, Kurt."
"Well," Kurt answered shyly, "I'm not a writer yet. My actual job is working for Vogue, but I'm trying to write a novel in my spare time."
"I knew it!" Blaine yelled, startling Kurt. "Sebastian owes me twenty bucks!" Taking in Kurt's look of confusion, Blaine explained, "Sorry about that. It was just – when Sebastian and I saw you the other night, I, um…" He fell silent and Kurt noticed his cheeks had pinked a bit.
"You, umm…" Kurt prompted him with an expectant air.
"Well, I told him I thought you were a model. He said you weren't, and he bet me twenty dollars."
Kurt laughed. "I hate to break it to you, but don't go collecting just yet."
"But you said…"
"I said I work for Vogue, which I do - as a journalist, not a model. Sorry." Kurt said with a giggle.
"Well that's a waste," Blaine mumbled. His eyes went wide and he went on, "Oh, lord, was that out loud? I didn't mean…not that being a journalist isn't…it's just you're so…and I just…"
Kurt bit his lip to keep from laughing. He finally put a hand on Blaine's knee to stop his rambling. "Thank you," he said graciously. The two men smiled at each other, and then Blaine thankfully tried to change the subject.
"So anyway, your neck – I could help with that, if you want. It's kind of what I do," he offered.
Kurt looked confused. "I'm sorry, what is kind of what you do?"
"Oh, I don't think we ever got around to talking about my work, did we? I'm a massage therapist, Kurt. I could work that crick out for you if you want."
Kurt's mind whirled. Blaine was a what now?
"You're a massage therapist?" he parroted incredulously.
"Yep. Licensed and everything. I work at a spa nearby." He reached into his pocket and retrieved a business card, handing it over to Kurt. "That's part of why I moved to this part of town. Well, that and my roommate got engaged and there wasn't room for all of us in the apartment anymore. Plus, with my own place now, I have room for a table and I do massages for friends on the side. Don't tell my boss," he said with a guilty look, "or the IRS," he added with a whisper and a wink.
Kurt was reeling, and apparently had lost any filter at all as he asked, "So the people who come see you every night and then leave, they're…massage clients?"
Blaine looked a little taken aback. "Um, how do you know that people come see me?" he asked cautiously.
"The walls are thin, Blaine. I can hear them knock and I can hear when they leave."
Blaine's eyes flew open wide. "Oh, geez, I didn't realize that! I'm so sorry! You must think I'm so inconsiderate. I never realized…I hope I haven't been disturbing you," he said apologetically.
"No, it's no bother. Like I said, I'm up anyway writing." Kurt shifted on the couch, rubbing his sore neck once more.
"Well, that's a relief. Anyway, you were asking about my evening clients. You see, I've got a lot of friends in the theater. The shows can be physically demanding, especially the musicals, and a lot of actors see massage therapists to help keep everything in order. So, I started doing massages for some of my actor friends after their shows. It's helpful sometimes to do it when the muscles are still loose, as opposed to waiting until the next day. I used to have a travel table and go to them, but when I moved here, I was within walking distance of most of the theaters. The table in my apartment is better than a travel table, so they started coming to me. Plus, my apartment affords them more privacy than they would have at the theater. They finish their show, come here, and then go home."
It all seemed so logical. Kurt couldn't believe the conclusion he had jumped to instead. He blushed hard with embarrassment at his error in judgment. All he could hope was that Blaine didn't notice.
"Kurt? Is something wrong?"
Kurt froze. How was he going to get out of this one?
"What? No, no. Everything's fine, Blaine." Blaine gave him a look that indicated he wasn't buying it. Kurt sighed heavily, and decided to go with the truth. "Okay, please, please don't be offended by this, but I kind of thought you had, well, a different thing going on over there," Kurt began. Oh, how was he going to explain this? He should have just kept his mouth shut.
"What kind of thing, Kurt?" Blaine inquired.
"I, uh…" he hesitated, then blurted, "well, you had all these people coming and going. And they never stayed for more than an hour or so. And the blonde guy said he was going to 'feel it tomorrow' and Sebastian said you could 'relieve my tension,'" he said, using air quotes, "and he said he wasn't paying you for the time you spent looking at me, and I just thought," Kurt stopped, hoping he wouldn't have to say it.
After a brief pause, recognition dawned on Blaine's face. "Kurt! You thought I was having sex for money?"
Kurt covered his face with his hands and crashed into the back of the couch. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, Blaine," he said, his words muffled by his hands and the couch cushions. That was it. Blaine was going to be so angry. It would serve him right if he cursed him out then left and never spoke to Kurt again.
Kurt waited a long moment in silence, afraid to look up. Suddenly, he heard a rather undignified snort. Finally daring to look up, he found Blaine sitting with one hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking as he tried to contain himself.
"I can't believe you thought I was a hooker, Kurt!" he laughed, reaching out and poking Kurt's shoulder playfully. "Really? I mean, me?"
Kurt sat up, relaxing when he saw that Blaine wasn't angry. "Well, I didn't know you, did I? How was I supposed to know?"
The two dissolved into a fit of laughter, only stopping when they were interrupted by a knock at the door. Blaine wiped tears from his eyes as Kurt rose to answer the door. It was the building manager, finally arriving to let Blaine into his apartment.
Blaine thanked the rather cranky manager profusely, and then came back across the hall through Kurt's still open door.
"Well," he said with a sigh.
"Yeah," Kurt answered, looking into the beautiful golden eyes that were smiling at him.
"I guess I should get my groceries and let you get back to the rest of your evening," he said, sounding a little sad, if Kurt wasn't mistaken.
The two moved to the kitchen and bagged up the items. Before picking up the bags, Blaine turned to Kurt and held out his hand. Kurt took it willingly, trying not to sigh out loud at how good that hand felt in his.
"I can't thank you enough for helping me tonight. I'm sorry if I spoiled your evening," Blaine said, holding onto Kurt's hand and standing close.
"It was nothing, really." Kurt's voice was soft and a little breathy, thinking that his evening had been far from spoiled.
"Let me make it up to you," Blaine said, stepping a little closer.
Kurt's breath caught in his throat. "You don't have to do that," he answered a little shakily.
Blaine smiled that warm, charming smile of his. "I know, but I want to." He released Kurt's hand and gingerly touched the back of Kurt's neck in the place Kurt had been rubbing it before. "I can help with this. Let me work on it and relieve the spasm in that muscle."
Kurt knew his eyes had gone wide. Blaine stepped back and dropped his hand. "Only if you want, Kurt. I don't want to impose, but I think it would do you good and I'd like to repay you for your hospitality. It's what I do. I can help."
Kurt stared into those hazel eyes, looking so sincerely into his own. How could he say no to that?
"Okay," he finally answered, his heart fluttering when Blaine responded with a blinding grin.
"Wonderful," Blaine said brightly. He turned and picked up his grocery bags, then turned back to Kurt. "Give me half an hour."
"W-what? You mean, tonight?" Kurt said, flabbergasted.
"Sure! I don't have an appointment, and you're in pain now. Just give me half an hour to get set up." Blaine started making his way to the door. "Change into something comfortable – nothing too tight or restrictive. When you're ready, come on over." He walked across the hall and turned around, catching Kurt's eye as he entered the open door of his own apartment. "Just knock," he said with a wink before disappearing behind the door, leaving a dumbstruck Kurt in his wake.
A/N: Many of you caught the hints in Chapter One and guessed Blaine's profession correctly. You're smarter than Kurt (or at least less paranoid)! For those of you wondering, the chapter title is courtesy of William Shakespeare – you know, the British guy who wrote that play that one time...Just kidding! I adore my Shakespeare! Also, as a disclaimer, I have absolutely no idea whether getting a massage right after a performance would be any more or less beneficial than having it the next day. It's just a plotline to make the story work, so don't take it as medical advice, k? :)