The mains streets of Sylvester are quiet in the daytime – the children packed off to school whilst the adults trundle to work. Blaine tugs his scarf closer around his neck and thanks mercy for the warm sweater Kurt had provided him with that morning. It smells like vanilla – like the warm blankets he'd woken wrapped in as dawn broke – and the sleeves fall down past his palm so that he can tuck his fingers in the curl of fabric.
"Where to first?" he asks as the pair turn the corner. Spread before them the occasional wanderer can be seen ambling between shops or sitting beneath the colourful umbrellas at Sugar And Spice with a coffee. Pucks Place is closed in the early morning but Blaine can hear voices inside laughing loudly, whilst a little down the road at the Cheerio's Diner, a soft melody is playing out the open window.
Kurt takes in his hometown with a soft frown before nodding to a small, colourful shop down the end of the street.
"Tina's first. She runs a small nursery and provides all the flowers for the festival."
ooo
The nursery is bursting with colour and sickly sweet to smell, even in such cold weather, and only the mingling of the grungy underlying of soil stops Blaine from coughing his lungs up. He's been somewhat allergic to flowers ever since he was a child, but the short Asian woman rounding the bench looks so delighted by his and Kurt's presence that he doesn't have the heart to step out of the shop.
"Good morning Kurt! What are you doing here?" the woman Blaine assumes to be Tina asks. She's hidden behind a giant pot of primula's and winter pansies and Blaine is surprised he can still recognise them. He can remember his mother planting similar flowers in the winter, and all at once he pictures the house he grew up in with it's perfectly trimmed hedges and the long brick pathway lined with flowers up to the front door.
"Who's your friend?"
Tina sets the pot down on the bench and rubs the soil from her fingers onto her apron, leaving dark streaks of mud down her front and rather defeating the purpose of trying to clean them. She's appraising Blaine with the same half intrigued, half suspicious glance he gets whenever he travels through small towns, and whilst it usually makes him uncomfortable, there's a gleam in Tina's eye that tells him she doesn't care who he is.
She's much more interested that he's with Kurt.
He smiles discreetly – Tina keeps flicking her gaze between the two in a way she probably thinks is subtle. Blaine likes her already.
"This is Blaine Anderson. He's a journalist from The Dalton."
Tina's glance turns hesitant and Blaine gets the feeling she's never read The Dalton. Not that he would expect her too. Whilst Kurt's assumption the night previous that they don't receive The Dalton was incorrect - Blaine knows for a fact that the small town does sell copies - Westerville is more than 5 hours away, much more than that when you factor in traffic and the winding roads that lead here and the only reason Sylvester receives the paper is because their local one stopped running during the 90's.
Blaine remembers Wes telling him about it one afternoon when he'd stumbled across a report detailing their readership. As a rule, The Dalton doesn't cover any of McKinley or Sylvester's local news, but some of the residents like to read its coverage of state wide issues, and if it increases readership, they aren't likely to say no to publishing this far north.
And occasionally, like Blaine's current assignment, Wes has the bright idea to cover small town America and some lucky journalist is sent into the middle of nowhere to gather their news.
"He's here to report on the Harvest Festival," Kurt is explaining by Blaine's side, and his mention pulls Blaine back to the current moment. He extends his hand and can't help but smile as Tina's small, slightly damp hand shakes his.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," he says, smiling warmly. Tina giggles and rubs her hands down her apron once more. "Kurt's told me you provide all the flowers for the festival."
"That's right," Tina answers. She leads the boys down the rows and rows of plants; some potted, some in small trays on tabletops, and stops at the end where a whole table is covered in an array of different coloured petunias. "What's so interesting about the festival that they've got a journalist writing about it?"
Blaine laughs shortly, "You tell me."
Tina looks somewhat taken back. She picks up a trowel and a pair of gloves lying on the table and puts them on, digging into a fresh patch of soil. After a moments silence she begins, "Well, it's one of the few times during the year that everyone really comes together," she explains, digging a shallow hole.
Before long she has a fresh line of seeds planted and is telling Blaine about the flowers the mayor has ordered to be arranged in the McKinley town square in the shape of a hay bail; about how one year it rained so heavily that the entire festival was hauled into the town hall and about how she met her husband, Mike, at the festival when they were 5 and Mike and his family had just moved to town to open the grocery store.
"I can't explain it," she murmurs; face alight with a soft smile, her lip caught delicately between her teeth. "Both McKinley and Sylvester are so small and everybody knows everybody – meaning there's no privacy and someone is always angry at someone else. But we always get on at the festival."
Blaine can hear Kurt snort softly somewhere in the background. He'd wandered off with his camera a short while ago and through the haze of Tina's stories Blaine had been able to make out the quiet snap and click of the shutter. He'd asked Kurt to take photo's for him last night, and he's pleased the other man has taken him up on the request. He can still picture the shot of the valley hung over Kurt's mantel, and thinks that if he can capture some of that calm, some of that quiet nature in his images and his words, then the story will be worth the broken car and the frostbite in his fingers.
"It sounds wonderful," he tells Tina, and hopes the hand he places on her arm feels genuine. "Thank you," he says and squeezes.
She nods in delight. "How do you know Kurt?"
She turns to her friend down the end of the nursery where he is obviously trying to capture the light splaying of a quietly gurgling water feature. Blaine studies him a moment, caught in his quiet concentration, until the heavy set of Tina watching him creeps into the air.
"My car broke down last night. He came and picked me up," Blaine explains, turning back to her with a sheepish grin.
Tina glances at him sharply. "Really?" she questions. Blaine nods quickly. The woman shakes her head and then shrugs, laughing it off. "You seem like you know each other, that's all," she hastens to explain. "I thought you might have met him in the city."
"He's a journalist Tina," Kurt interrupts before Blaine can answer, "It's his job to find things about people," Kurt says. He stops in front of them. His camera is resting around his neck and his hands are bunched in his pockets. Blaine wonders if that's what Kurt really thinks of him, that he digs into peoples lives until it feels like he's part of them, whilst really it's all for the stories.
"Did you get some nice photos?" he asks instead. Kurt looks mildly affronted, and Tina laughs delightedly.
"Of course," Kurt replies petulantly.
"Kurt's won the art prize the last 2 years, haven't you?" Tina teases, nudging her friend's shoulder.
For a brief moment Blaine watches as Kurt's face shifts; his eyes flutter closed, but then seconds later he's preening. Blaine tilts his head curiously and watches the two bicker, shuffling the brief flash of anguish into the ever expanding Kurt Hummel folder.
And then he remembers Kurt's words and feels a stab of guilt. He is, after all, a journalist, and digging is what he does best. That doesn't mean he isn't genuinely interested in people.
But even that doesn't stop the uneasy feeling in his stomach.
ooo
They leave Tina's nursery with a promise to send her copies of the best of Kurt's photos and as they emerge back onto the street Kurt leads them down the south end toward the pub and the Town Hall.
"It's nearly lunch," he explains offhandedly, fiddling with the buttons on his camera. He's gone quiet ever since Tina pulled him aside and whispered something in his ear whilst they were leaving, and Blaine feels at a loss to explain or fix the situation. He's only known Kurt a day, but he likes him. Likes his well-timed words and his quiet wit and his appreciation for light and colour. He doesn't want things to be awkward between them.
"We can go to Puck's. It should be open. Or we can go to the diner and speak to Quinn and Santana." Kurt finally glances towards him. "It's up to you."
Blaine shrugs. He's really not all that hungry. He says so and Kurt just nods, continuing to fiddle.
Blaine's not quite sure if he did something wrong, and if so what it was, besides being a journalist. And really, if that's the problem, then there's nothing he can do about it. Kurt did invite him into his home after knowing that fact. He steps a little closer, nudging Kurt's shoulder playfully as they amble down the sidewalk.
"You didn't tell me you could paint," he says, thinking of Tina's comment about the art show.
He's beginning to think Kurt Hummel is quite the bit of an overachiever, if he's honest. Fixing cars and taking photos and winning art contests and just generally being gorgeous – and wow, where did that thought come from.
Blaine pauses a moment as Kurt eyes him sideways and then hastens to catch up as the other man continues walking.
Of course Kurt is good looking. Blaine can see that objectively. Anybody would see that objectively, he thinks. Kurt's all long legs and flowing hard lines hidden beneath layers of soft looking fabric and the slop of his nose is fascinating as Blaine watches him from the side.
He spent a great deal of last night marvelling at the gorgeous man before him and holding his hand by the fire, but in the cold light of morning he'd reasoned his initial rapture away as pure exhaustion. Yes, objectively, Blaine would say Kurt is very good looking, and last night he'd been cold and hungry and Kurt had emerged as his saviour with a warm house. Of course he'd been smitten.
But there's a curl in his stomach and a tingling in his fingertips when Kurt brushes past him that suggests now that it's morning other parts of his mind and body also agree.
For instance, he perhaps shouldn't be so enthralled by the curl of Kurt's lips when he smiles.
Not his smirk, which Blaine feels intimately acquainted with after only one night; but rather that wide, beaming smile Blaine has only seen once or twice.
It was there when he complimented Kurt's décor early in the morning, when the other man had pressed a wonderfully smelling cup of coffee in his hands but before the caffeine had had the chance to pull Blaine from the stupor of sleep.
Blaine's mouth has always been able to ramble, especially in the mornings, and this morning he's pretty sure he spent 5 minutes detailing how amazing the colour of the tiles in Kurt's shower accompanied the floor and the wide frame mirror over the vanity.
It was a ramble to rival his appreciation for Kurt's chicken the night previous, and Kurt had just smiled that warm, silly smile and rolled his eyes over his own mug. A silent you're ridiculous had passed between them, and Blaine had been left standing by the sink in his undershirt, still blinking in the morning light and thinking about how it played in waves across Kurt's hair.
His phone beeps in his pocket and Blaine is pulled back to reality where Kurt is leading them towards the pub. Obviously he's made the decision for them, and Blaine is glad. He's still a bit too shell-shocked by the revelation that he's actually attracted to Kurt to make an informed decision about anything, much less food.
"We can ask Puck and Finn about the festival whilst we eat," Kurt explains, stepping towards the open door. Blaine follows him, sliding open his phone, and feels a brief panic when he sees the text is from James.
James. Yes. His boyfriend. He'd forgotten about that one for a second, lost as he was in the shade of Kurt's eyes.
Perhaps James had been able to sense Blaine's straying thoughts, or perhaps he misses him. Perhaps it's something dirty. His heartbeat quickens.
He slides the message open.
Your idiot brother is asking me when you're coming home. Get him off my back please. Oh, and I think I'll have to pull out of Sunday.
That's it.
No dirty message or reprimand or smiley face or even an I love you at the end.
Blaine can feel a trickle of cold down his spine that has nothing to do with the temperature outside and stuffs his phone back in his pocket. He'll call Cooper later when they've finished interviewing people. And James. Perhaps. He'll wait and see how he's feeling after dealing with his brother.
Maybe James could make the effort for once and think to call him.
He steps through the open door into the pub and is met with the delicious smell of hot chips frying in the kitchen. AC DC is playing from speakers hanging on the walls and the television in the far corner is playing an old college football game.
Kurt is seated at the far end of the bar with his legs crossed neatly and there's a tall, somewhat lanky guy leaning over talking to him whilst cleaning glasses.
Kurt glances up and waves him over with a small smile and Blaine's stomach warms slightly.
"This is Blaine," he introduces, patting Blaine's back.
The tall man beams at him and holds a hand out to shake and Blaine almost misses it because holy hell Kurt's hand is hot through his jacket and that really is impossible.
Blaine's wearing three layers of clothing and it still feels like it's minus degrees inside the pub so there is now way Kurt's hand is actually that hot on him. He needs to get a handle on his feelings before breaks down and throws Kurt up against the nearest door.
Despite the inward battle of the century, he thinks he manages to keep his cool, so instead he shakes the offered hand and tries not to feel too intimidated by the guy's height. He looks like he could be terrifying if not for the genuine grin spread across his face.
"Finn Hudson, barman and sometimes mechanic," the guy introduces. From behind the back of the bar another man emerges, swearing loudly and startling the other three. He slams into the side of the wall and then shakes his head and it takes Blaine a good few seconds to realise he's talking on the phone.
"That's Puck," Finn whispers loudly, and suddenly Blaine understands the name of the pub. He'd thought it might be some rather witty Shakespearian reference.
Evidently not.
"He's a good guy," Finn nods earnestly, and it says a lot about both men that Finn feels the need to lead with that statement. Finally Puck finishes on the phone, slamming it down in its cradle – Blaine thinks it might have been regarding an order placement - and turns to the pubs only other occupants.
"Hummel. You know any ways to kill a man and get away with it?"
Kurt huffs gently. "Only the one. Why?"
"Bloody people are ripping me off. Last week I ordered onions and carrots and instead I ended up with radishes and turnips. Who the hell eats radishes and turnips?"
"I –" Kurt lands a heavy hand on Blaine's arm and he shuts up. Puck turns towards him.
"Who are you?"
"This is Blaine," Finn explains. "He's..." the tall man ponders a moment. Kurt stays silent, evidently enjoying watching Finn struggle, and Blaine just feels slightly uncomfortable by the whole situation.
Not to mention a large part of him is still trying to recover from Kurt's hand on his shoulder.
"What are you doing here, dude?" Finn asks, evidently confused by the newcomer.
"I'm a journalist."
"He's here to write about the Winter Festival."
Puck snorts. He leans down and hauls a box of ketchup dispensers upwards and then drops it onto the bar, making it rattle loudly. "Why the hell are you writing about the festival? Who wants to hear about that?"
"Apparently lots of people in Westerville," Kurt smirks, nodding in thanks as Finn lands a glass of water in front of him.
"Look," Blaine tries to appease, "I'm just here to find out about it. You never know, something interesting might come up."
The three men look at him blankly. Blaine fidgets. "Or not?"
"I wouldn't hold your breath," Kurt mumbles. He dips down to take a sip from his glass and catches the end of the straw between his teeth. He sucks lightly, and Blaine takes a moment to appreciate how soft his lips look, red around the white straw and glistening slightly from his drink.
The moment's silence is broken by Puck's obvious grunt, and Blaine snaps back to attention to see Finn and Puck looking at him like he's got two heads. Blaine sniffs softly. "What?" he asks, willing away the burn in his cheeks.
It's been a long time since he felt uncomfortable being caught checking out a guy, but it looks like it's been even longer since these two saw anyone checking out Kurt.
Obviously the gay population of Sylvester is rather limited.
Which brings him to the next problem. He doesn't actually know if Kurt is gay.
For all he knows Finn is looking at him like he's from another planet because Kurt's girlfriend is about to emerge through the open doors and slap him.
Blaine can feel his heart stutter at the thought but then thinks of the obvious fact that Kurt isn't living with anyone, and that he invited Blaine back to his house – a house that smelt like vanilla and in the bathrooms, lavender, and had matching tiles between the floor, the shower and the vanity, and really, Kurt just has to be gay because the universe has been cruel enough to Blaine in the past 24 hours!
It can't steal this from him as well.
Beside him Kurt is still sipping at his water, but the apples of his cheeks are stained red and his legs are swinging gently where they don't quite touch the floor. Blaine feels a little more secure in his analysis and decides to change the subject.
"Maybe you two could tell me about how you got involved with McKinley's festival?" he announces loudly, pulling his pen and pad from his pocket.
"McKinley wishes it were their festival!" mutters Puck.
Blaine pauses his movements, glancing between the three men. "I thought it was..."
Finn snorts from where he's still polishing glasses, "No, the festival's always been ours."
When he doesn't elaborate further Blaine turns to Kurt, noting the slight smile that quivers at his jaw.
"I'm probably going to regret asking this, but why exactly is it known as the McKinley Festival then?"
"Same reason it's called the Winter Festival. And a harvest festival, at that. Considering the fact that there is no harvest in winter, you shouldn't be that surprised that the McKinley part of the name isn't accurate either."
Kurt beams at him. Blaine can only muster the energy to glare back.
"We don't have the room for an ice skating rink. McKinley does. So we convinced them to hold a giant festival for us."
"The only thing they asked for in return was the right to call it the McKinley Winter Harvest Festival. Nobody here cared what it was called as long as we all got to ice skate and bob for apples," finishes Finn.
"That's not true," Kurt mutters, and the other three turn towards him.
Blaine picks up his pencil, thinks perhaps they're getting to a real story now; perhaps there's a tense political situation surrounding the festival; maybe the two towns Mayors are locked in deep battle over ownership – but then Kurt gets that gleam in his eye and Blaine lowers his pencil, sighing deeply.
"There was a meeting back when the festival began that lasted 35 hours over whether we could actually call it the winter festival when it was in Spring," he explains giddily. "They locked the entire town in the hall and wouldn't let anyone out until it was resolved."
"Why on earth didn't everyone just agree?" Blaine asks incredulously.
"Oh they did," Kurt explains, smirking, "but there was one town member, Artemis Zizes, who liked to cause trouble and refused to agree. It took them 35 hours to trick him into taking a drink that someone had laced with their sleeping pills. When he fell asleep his vote became void and they all left. His daughter runs the library and has been bitter about it ever since."
"Dude, is that why she won't let anyone borrow?" Finn breathes in wonder.
Blaine drops his head in his hands and whines pitifully, "You're all insane, you know that?" he mumbles. Kurt just keeps giggling with that damn straw caught in his lips.
It's distracting and disconcerting and Blaine's phone feels like both a lead weight of guilty doom connected straight to his boyfriend but also a reminder of said boyfriend, and that is turning into an incentive to keep watching Kurt.
Blaine never wanted to be one of those boys who were distracted by others whilst dating. But James is...James is terse most of the time now and he hardly has time for Blaine unless he's fucking him and he doesn't like his brother, a fact that Blaine both understands and resents because Cooper Anderson can be an annoying asshole but he's also the most endearing annoying asshole on the planet.
Blaine thinks Kurt would perhaps like Cooper, if his relationship with Finn is anything to go by, and those two are only sort of stepbrothers. Blaine thinks Kurt would understand.
Speaking of Finn, the lanky giant is hovering awkwardly behind the bar watching the pair of them and looks concerned when Blaine doesn't pick his head up right away.
"Dude, is he okay?" he whispers, not so quietly, to Kurt. Blaine thinks perhaps he needs to be told that he's not very inconspicuous at all. Not when he's practically 7 foot tall and leaning over the bar next to him.
Kurt grins and catches Blaine's eye and is still holding his gaze when whispers back "He's okay," all the while twirling that damn straw with his tongue.
And through the haze of lust that Kurt's tongue produces, Blaine thinks it's possibly the best thing anybody has said about him.
Ever.
ooo
Their lunch is brought to them by Finn, via Puck sticking his head through the window separating the bar from the kitchen and yelling at the top of his lungs.
It startles Kurt and Blaine from the rather intense discussion they were having about Broadway, and only the smell of freshly fried chips can pull Blaine from rhapsodising about Rent.
"It's just, so full of hope?" he offers, biting into a chip, and the fresh burst of soft, fluffy potato sends a warmth down to his toes.
Kurt must notices because he pauses, smirking, with his burger hovering in his right hand. "Please don't tell me you're about to start singing the praises of the food here as well."
"I might, possibly. Yes," Blaine mumbles guiltily.
"I might have to be offended then," Kurt throws back.
Blaine glances up in surprise. Kurt is balancing his burger in front of his face and is nibbling at the small peak of beetroot out the side. His eyes are closed and his lips are parted and stained red with the beetroot and Blaine considers the logistics of throwing him down against the bench top.
Then thinks better of it when Finn stops directly in front of them to wipe said bench.
Blaine wonders if the tall man is psychic. Can he sense Blaine thinking dirty thoughts about his almost stepbrother?
Or maybe he doesn't have to be psychic...Blaine immediately schools his face into an intense look of serious concentration, and the screws his forehead up when Kurt's words finally register.
"Why would you be jealous?" he asks, noting the way Kurt's eyes pop when he realises Blaine was actually listening.
"You can't just go praising every meal you eat Blaine. It will make me feel like I'm not special. Like my chicken's not special."
And they're back to the chicken.
Blaine has the insane need to implore, "but you are special!" but thinks it might come out just a tad on the side of too earnest and perhaps even I'm desperately in love with you – and that's scary. Somehow in the space of three hours he's jumped from holy hell you're actually really gorgeous to I want to throw you up against a wall to I love you.
It took him 6 months to even ponder the idea of being in love with James, and on his better days he still questions it.
Finn looks like he's walked into a conversation he doesn't quite understand, and so slinks back towards the kitchen were Puck is singing loudly. They're still the only two in the pub, but it's a workday, so Blaine can understand. He remembers last night when they'd drove past the pub – it was packed with people enjoying the night after a hard days work.
"These chips are just really good, okay," he mumbles back, and the other man just rolls his eyes and takes a decisive bite of his burger.
They're almost done with lunch when the sound of footsteps grow louder and then the light from the open door casts a shadow as a very blonde woman stands in the way.
Blaine glances up at her and notes not only her very blonde hair, but also her very pregnant stomach, and hears Kurt pull a sharp breath from behind him.
He swivels back around; catches the other mans eyes, and then winces when the woman yells.
"Finn Hudson!"
Finn pops his head around the kitchen door and does an incredible impression of a startled meerkat.
"Meet Quinn Fabray. She owns the Diner down the road," Kurt whispers, watching the scene unfold before them as Quinn's hands level on her hips.
"Wait. Quinn and Finn? Really?" Blaine mumbles back.
Kurt flicks a finger against his shoulder. "They were together in high school, but then Finn joined the army for a few years and she went out with Puck. But then Finn came back and...well you get the picture."
Blaine nods dumbly. He feels a little odd with Kurt whispering this all in his ear whilst Quinn tells Finn off quietly in the corner.
"So wait. Who does the baby belong to?" he asks. Kurt flicks him in the shoulder again. Blaine not sure what's up with that because it seems like a legitimate question.
"Finn's. She hasn't been with Puck for over two years."
"And the two of them work together at the pub, side by side, no hard feelings?"
Here, Kurt stumbles. "Well. Finn doesn't really know the details."
Blaine swivels back around in his seat. "How?"
"He and Puck have been best friends since kindergarten. Finn knows something happened whilst he was away, but he and Quinn were broken up...and he doesn't know the extent to which they were together..."
"Which was?"
Blaine realises he might sound too eager. The look Kurt levels him with suggests he should perhaps put down his pencil and pad and loose the i-just-found-the-story-of-the-century voice, "I promise not a word of this is going near my story. I write news, not gossip."
Kurt doesn't look entirely sure there's a difference.
"Look," Kurt finally relents, "All I know is that Puck wanted to marry her. Quinn, obviously, did not feel the same way."
Blaine sits back in his seat. "Wow."
"Yeah."
In the kitchen Blaine can hear Puck whistling rather sweetly, overcutting the undertones of Quinn's sharp voice.
How do you watch the person you intended to marry slip from you? Right before your eyes. How does Puck live with the knowledge that Quinn is having another man's baby?
Blaine opens his mouth, intent on saying something meaningful, and then shuts it. He swallows.
"That's really fucked up," he finally offers.
Kurt looks over at his almost stepbrother in the corner and then meets Blaine's eye with a small smile, "Yeah, it is."
ooo
Sylvester in the afternoon is perhaps Blaine's favourite.
Not that he's had a lot of time to ponder the town, having only been here a day.
But it seems to him that when the school lets out and the children rush down the streets with their parents that the town seems to come alive with an indescribable energy that is lacking when they're all locked inside.
It also helps that in the afternoon Kurt is less guarded, a little more used to him, and is forced to press their arms together as they pass by a large group of school children outside Sugar and Spice.
"We should come back here in about an hour when all the kids have got their sugar fix," Kurt explains to him as they continue walking. He thinks they're headed towards the diner. He nods mutely and stuffs his hands in his pockets, glancing around him as another rush of children press towards the door.
"Sugar makes the best milkshakes this side of country, well, according to her they're the best this side of the country, but she's also pretty well known for her free drinks and sweets for kids who ask nicely, so this place is always packed after school."
Blaine grins broadly. "That's gorgeous!" he smiles wistfully.
Kurt shrugs. "I think it started because Brittany didn't realise she was supposed to be charging people. And then Sugar didn't have the heart to turn the little girls away. And then the boys realized and called it unfair."
Kurt waves his hands in front of himself haphazardly, and Blaine thinks it's rather adorable.
He's in danger of thinking everything about Kurt is adorable, however.
Minutes earlier a young girl had stopped Kurt to ask about their music lesson the following day, and Kurt had bent down to her level to explain how they would be continuing to learn about Latin music. Before Blaine's heart could completely give out at the sight of Kurt with a young child, a whole group of children had gathered around and started singing.
Blaine had been enchanted, and grinning broadly, had joined in on the song.
Very soon their was an impromptu sing-a-long happening on the side of the main street and women were passing by with smiles and Blaine was leading the children in a round of Firework and angling towards another Katy Perry show stopper when he'd noticed Kurt's sudden absence.
The other man had wandered to the back of the group and was leant against the wall outside Sugar and Spice with the most beautiful, serene smile Blaine had ever witnessed.
He'd drawn the song to a close and thanked the children enthusiastically for their sing-a-long, high fiving them as they wandered away, until only he and Kurt had been left standing.
"I didn't know you could sing," Kurt had murmured finally, and Blaine had chuckled, his face flushed.
"There's a lot you don't know about me," he'd offered back, and then turned to head down the street.
ooo
It's 4 in the afternoon and Blaine has been on his feet most of the day, Kurt quietly taking photos around him as Blaine wanders up to people on the street.
He's had a lovely conversation with an older lady outside the grocery store who'd told him about a dark time some 26 years ago, before the Winter Harvest Festival, when the entire town was on knifes edge and couldn't find a way to come together. She'd been so earnest that Blaine had wanted to hug her, and he's certain Kurt snapped a picture of him smiling adoringly as she rambled.
In the grocery store he'd met Mike, Tina's other half, and had immediately understood why the two of them were together. Unlike Quinn and Finn, who had seemed more likely to murder each other than smile, Mike and Tina seem to share the same ineffable charm and easygoing nature, even whilst apart. Blaine had been left with Mike's own tale of meeting Tina on the Ferris Wheel at age 5, as well as how he'd proposed to her some 20 years later at the top of the very same ride.
He's a little giddy as he and Kurt enter Sugar and Spice – they'd avoided the diner when it became apparent Quinn was still in a temper. A tall woman Kurt had explained was Santana had sent a dark look Kurt's way and then motioned with her finger that Quinn was going a little crazy.
Kurt had cracked a smile and Santana had nodded her head towards Blaine, raising an eyebrow that Kurt had stared down immediately. This only made her laugh, and Kurt had flushed a deep red, leaving Blaine once again feeling completely out of the loop.
He asks about it again as they take a seat in the corner of the café, but Kurt refuses to dignify his digging with an answer.
"What do you think of this place?" Kurt asks instead, twinkling his fingers in a tiny wave at Sugar behind the counter.
Well, Blaine thinks. It's very pink. Very pink and very sweet – so sweet in fact Blaine thinks he can feel his teeth aching at the sight of it.
But it's entirely adorable.
There's pink and white striped wallpaper running halfway up the walls and then the top halves are painted a paler pink. Love hearts run around the skirtings and the tables and chairs all have tiny bows on them. If he's honest, it looks a little like a 1950's milk bar mixed with Minnie Mouses' dream cottage, and Blaine – who has loved pink in all its incarnations (colour, artist, and general feeling) – is even a little overwhelmed.
"It's very pink," he breathes, and Kurt barks a quick laugh.
"You said you work here sometimes?" Blaine prods, picking up a laminated menu from behind the napkins. He opens it and is met with the sight of every desert he could dream of.
"Sometimes, yes. Mostly when they need the extra service. I also do most of their finances. The girls are sweet, and lovely, and lord knows they know more about confectionary and baking than anyone else in this town...but they're not the brightest when it comes to actually making money."
Blaine snorts, nodding in understanding. He'd met Brittany when they wondered into the café and he can understand how her bubbly personality might not mesh with a head for business.
"You should ask Sugar and Brittany about the festival. I'm sure it's their favourite town event," Kurt says, standing up and heading towards the counter. He turns back when he reaches the display cases, and asks Blaine for his order.
"Umm, will you judge me if I ask for medium drip?"
Kurt's answering glare needs no translation. "How about a latte?"
Kurt's smile picks up. "And biscotti? And maybe one of those cupid shaped cookies. They're cute."
Blaine's not quite sure why they have cupid shaped cookies in April, but they look delicious.
A few minutes later Kurt rounds the counter again with their orders, placing his drink down and splitting the cookie and biscotti as well as a layered pastry that looks like it might be strawberry flavoured, between them.
Kurt shuffles softly in his seat, grinning, and Blaine pauses with his mug halfway towards his lips. "What?" he questions indulgently.
Kurt hums, shaking his head. "Oh nothing, I just can't wait to see your reaction to all of this. You were that impressed by Puck's fries that I'm half expecting you to reach nirvana."
Well now Blaine just feels pressured, and slightly embarrassed, but also deliciously buzzed because Kurt is teasing him – practically flirting with him – and he honestly can't remember the last time someone took such intense pleasure in his reactions.
He takes a small sip of his latte and immediately wants to slam it down on the table because fuck, it is delicious, but then he thinks the better of it because he actually wants to savour every last drop of this magic drink.
He moans something pornographic and then doesn't realise until Kurt swallows deeply and looks almost startled because sometimes Blaine's sex noises and his food noises are very similar and he forgets that that's not quite normal.
He clears his throat and shuffles in his seat, but doesn't apologise, because for a second Kurt had looked like he wanted to try and make Blaine make that noise by himself, no coffee included, and Blaine wants to explore that idea a little further.
Okay, a lot further. But first he wants to finish his latte.
"This is the best thing I've ever tasted."
Kurt laughs delightedly and sips from his own mug, nodding to himself. "Of course it is."
"Did you make this?"
"I did."
"You are very talented," Blaine mumbles, trying to intersperse his drinking with little compliments.
Kurt just nestles back in his chair and smiles that broad grin that is already Blaine's favourite. He looks completely relaxed for the first time all day and Blaine wants him to stay that way. Wants the bunching in his shoulders to drop and the small crinkle in his forehead to smooth and the crease of his smile to grow, and some deep selfish part of him wants all of this to happen because of his presence.
He's not stupid, despite what Nick and Jeff like to tell him, and he knows he's only known Kurt for...not even 24 hours.
But he's a storyteller by trade even if he deals in real life, and at the heart of every storyteller is belief.
And he believes in Kurt.
Believes he's falling for Kurt.
It's been 22 hours and Blaine is already a little in love with this boy and his town.
Give it another 20 or so and he's sure he'll be in love all the way.