N&T

A/N

Hello! It's been so long, I know, I know, my life is crazy... But here's chapter three, hope you'll enjoy it!

Sorry for mistakes (which I know will occur, because time is apparently overrated if you ask my life)

Disclaimer: not mine.


Chapter 3

"And so they lived happily ever after."

The classroom was silent for a while before Julie, a blond, adorable little girl, raised her hand.

"Mr. Anderson?" she asked, and I smiled at her tiny, delicate voice.

"Yes Julie?"

"Do you think we all will find a prince someday, and live happily ever after? Or is it only princesses?"

The class looked at me in anticipation, and this was one of my favorite things; when they all held their breath, eagerly awaiting my response with their innocent eyes.

"Why Julie, I can't imagine why you shouldn't be able to," I answered, and the girl smiled in relief. "And you know, it doesn't have to be a prince. It can just be a normal girl and a normal boy. Or two boys or two girls."

The room was quiet, perceiving the new information.

"So, we will all get to live happily ever after?" Micah asked from his seat beside Julie.

"Of course you will."

"Mr. Anderson, is Mr. Bryson your prince?" Amanda asked, her thick curls bobbing slightly as she talked.

I inhaled sharply, taken aback by her question. The kids only very rarely spoke of Paul, especially since he had only once been in my class, because he had lost his key and needed my spare. He wasn't exactly as fond of kids as me.

I nearly always knew how to answer my kids' questions, but this time, I had absolutely no idea what to answer. My first response was no. No, he was not, but there was no other way, so that was okay. I had settled because that was the right thing to do. But I didn't want the kids to know that. I didn't want them to think that it was okay to pursue anything other than the very best, and since they would hopefully never be in my position, they never needed to.

But I couldn't lie. I never lied, not to my kids, not to anyone if I could help it.

Luckily the bell rang, saving me. The room, which had been completely quiet before, suddenly became alive, the kids jumping up and gathering their things into their backpacks.

"See you tomorrow everyone," I said and stood. Before I got to take another step, two small arms encircled my hips. I looked down and found Amanda there, her brown curls almost hiding her face completely.

"Goodbye Mr. Anderson," she said and let go. I smiled widely at her and kneeled until I was eye to eye with her.

"Goodbye Amanda," I said and ruffled her curls. "I'll see you tomorrow, am I right?"

She nodded vehemently, her hair going crazy, and she hugged me again. "You're the best teacher in the world, Mr. Anderson."

I melted momentarily and squeezed her. This was why I loved my job. "You're a great student as well, sweetie," I said, and she giggled adorably. "But are you okay? You don't normally come here and say goodbye."

Her little eyes were so innocent and pure as she answered, "You seemed sad, Mr. Anderson. And I don't want you to be sad ever, because you're the best teacher we have. The other teachers don't sing with us or laugh like you do."

I felt something tight knit together in my stomach at her words. Children had such an amazing way of perceiving things in a twisted, innocent way. And yet they always seemed to get it right.

"Well, maybe the other teachers don't know how to sing, honey," I said with a wink and she giggled again.

"Hi Mr. Anderson," a female voice said from the door and I turned around to see Amanda's mother, Mr. Carlyle, there.

"Oh, hi Mrs. Carlyle," I said and stood, my hand in Amanda's curls. "Amanda was so sweet to come by to tell me goodbye." The girl sent her mother a toothy grin and the woman smiled back. You could instantly see where the girl got her beautiful smile.

"I can see that," she smiled back and kneeled down. "Come on sweetie, daddy's at home waiting for us."

I watched her with adoring eyes as she ran into her mother's arms, a laugh on her face. "Is Daddy home?"

"He sure is, and we will go to the park and play ball and eat lunch. But we need to get home first, so say goodbye to Mr. Anderson."

The girl turned around, an enormous smile on her face that would make even Paul smile in endearment. "See you tomorrow, Mr. Anderson," she said and waved.

I smiled widely back and waved. "I'll see you, Amanda. Have a great trip to the park, okay?"

She nodded, her heart-melting smile in place, and Mrs. Carlyle smiled politely and wished me a good day before taking her girl's hand and leading her out of the classroom.

It was suddenly quiet, with the vacated seats and empty tables. I tried not to feel like a weight was being placed in my gut, when thinking of Mrs. Carlyle's words. We'll to the park and play ball and eat lunch. The blissful smile on Amanda's face, when she heard her dad had come home (he was a sailor and wasn't home much).

The feeling was familiar of course, one I had to endure every time I got to work. I knew very well that I would never be in Mr. and Mrs. Carlyle place, having an adorable little girl, who I could take to the park. Sometimes I wondered if that was why I subconsciously chose this job. I knew I would never have kids in my personal life, so I chose to have them in my professional one. That way I could have them in my life in some way. And even if it was on a professional level, it was worth it.

I suppressed a sigh and started gathering my things. I had a lot of time to kill before going home to my empty apartment. I decided that I really could go for a coffee.

"You WHAT?" I practically screamed into the phone, making people around me gaze at me warily.

"I just sent him a text from your phone, relax Lady," Santana's nonchalant voice said, and I swore I would kill her under my breath. "It was not even dirty or anything."

"How could I not have seen it," I muttered more to myself than to her.

"I did it when you looked away, maybe?" she deadpanned. "Gosh, you should be more grateful, Lady, I could very well just have saved your sorry excuse of a love life."

"Gosh, why am I allowed to pick my own friends?" I asked, again directed more at myself.

"I gotta go, Hummel, this girl I met just called, and I wanna get laid. I'll look forward to saying I told you so. 'Kay bye!" And she hung up.

I sighed dramatically and rubbed my temples. Why was it so hard to understand that I did not need them to play matchmaker.

Sure, I had thought of texting Alec, but not like this. I couldn't believe Santana.

Before I even got to check the text she had sent him (apparently prior that day at work) Rachel called, reminding me why I was seated at our usual coffee shop on a Tuesday – my Tuesday yoga class had certainly not worked after all, since I was completely tense again after Santana's brief phone call.

"Hey Rach, you're late, what's up?"

"Kurt, I'm so sorry, but I have to cancel! Our asshole producer just called in an emergency rehearsal, something about an accident at the theater. I'm so, so sorry, honey."

I sighed. This wasn't exactly a rarity. "It's okay, Rach. I'll just see you next Tuesday, okay?"

"Sure! I love you!"

"I love you, too, hon," I said, and hung up. Well, wow, this day was not going as I planned it to.

I figured I could at least drink some coffee, and stood to head to the register. As I walked I looked through my phone, going to text messages instantly. I almost let out an agitated groan when I saw Santana's text: Hello Hot Stuff! Thought we should meet up sometime, maybe grab a cup of coffee sometime? Maybe a round two? ;) Let me know! xoxo – Kurt

"Who the hell even writes xoxo?" I muttered in disbelief, but before my thoughts could answer, I felt something scalding drench my newly washed shirt. I let out a startled, pained noise, as the scalding coffee seeped down my torso and down to my pants.

Ready to throw a tantrum, I looked up at my shirts murderer, already in the midst of a yell, when my words halted to an immediate stop. Before me muttering all kinds of apologies and exclamations of mortification were the eyes that hadn't left my head in over two weeks now. And gosh, they were beautiful – how could eyes be that breathtaking? They were the exact same shade of hazel that I remembered, except my mind hadn't done them any justice. Or maybe they were just slightly different?

"Kurt?" he asked awkwardly, and I probably looked like an idiot, staring blankly at him.

"Blaine?" I asked just as perplexed.

"You remember me," he said with a small smile that looked slightly like relief.

I blinked a few times, composing myself before answering. "You keep saying that like it's some kind of surprise," I teased, and felt my heart stop. Did I just flirt with him? No. No, that was simply good-mannered teasing. That's all. Right.

He smiled briefly before shifting his gaze to my shirt again. "Look, Kurt, I'm so, so sorry, let me help you," he said, taking a handful of napkins.

"Oh, no, it's- it's okay, don't worry about it," I said, taking the napkins and dabbed the ruined shirt. Well at least it wasn't one of my favorites.

"No it's not, here I have a spare shirt in my satchel. It's nothing special, probably not something you'd wear, but…" he babbled, holding out a folded black V-neck.

"I'm serious, it's no big deal," I hurried to say, smiling slightly at the nearly frantic look in his eyes. He was quite endearing.

"No, please take the shirt, and I'll buy you a coffee while you put it on," he insisted, practically shoving the shirt at me, and the way his eyes pleaded… well, I couldn't say no. I just nodded dumbfounded and went to the restrooms to change.

The shirt was cotton, I felt instantly, and I approved of the V-neck – casual, yet slightly fashion-minded. It was a bit big around the chest, but otherwise it fit.

I found Blaine waiting for me outside the restrooms holding up a to-go cup. "The barista knew you, and said you always bought non-fat mocha," he said, his voice sounding adorably hopeful.

"Thank you that's perfect. And thanks for the shirt, you really didn't have to," I said. He just smiled bashfully. "Are you in a hurry?" I blurted it out before I even got the chance to think it over.

"Ehm, I actually just got off from work, so no," he said.

"You wanna join me? My friend just bailed on me." I tried not to notice how pathetic that sounded.

"S-sure," he nodded, and I noticed what was different about his eyes. They were slightly more open today, like he wasn't hiding as much as before. The kind curiosity that I had seen before was now clearer than ever.

We sat down at the table Rachel and I usually sat, and I tried to convince myself that this wasn't weird. I was just about to say something when my phone interrupted me. Blaine forgotten I groaned out loud when I saw the text from the guy Alec.

Hi Kurt! I'm so glad you answered! I would absolutely love a cup of coffee. When are you free? xoxox - Alec

Oh god, he was that guy who overused, unnecessary adjectives – before you start, I know I do, too, but I never said I was my type.

"I'm gonna kill Santana," I muttered, and approximately there, I remembered Blaine sitting across from me with his curious, slightly amused eyes.

"You gonna tell me what happened there?" he asked with a playful tone that I instantly thought suited him.

For some unknown, bizarre reason – probably his eyes that made me feel like I could say anything to him – I answered as honestly as possible. "My quote-unquote friend just thought it'd be a splendid idea to text the guy I may/may not have slept with in a weak moment of my inebriated state, and asking him out for coffee," I said, rubbing my temple. "And he just answered saying he 'absolutely would love a cup of coffee', I mean how old does he seem to you?"

At my long confession, Blaine's lips pursed in amusement and, who am I kidding, shock. And like that he thinks you're a promiscuous drunk, way to go, Hummel!

"Well," he started, eyes glimmering, making them even more stunning. "I would say start twenties, since I would like to think you wouldn't sleep with an underage kid and you have… you know, standards."

I deadpanned and he chuckled. "Not when alcohol's in my system it seems," I said, and his eyes widened in horror. "Not that he was underage, he most certainly was not!" I hurried to say. "Gosh, I should stop drinking. And telling strangers about my admittedly pathetic love life. I'm sorry, you must think I'm all sorts of insane now." Is it possible to buy a brain filter somewhere? Maybe if he just wore sunglasses I wouldn't feel compelled to say everything about my creepy self.

He just laughed at my rambling, still impossibly quiet and serene, right now standing in deep contrast to me. I felt something going gooey in my stomach at the sound. That was the first time I had heard him laugh. "Yes, well, I haven't run out screaming yet, so you must do something right," he said teasingly. Right. So he could tease as well. Gosh, it sounded so much like flirting, which obviously was not the case, but still…

"Right. Well, anyway, I'll start speaking about something else just in case," I said, afraid his annoyingly attractive looks would get to me if we kept the teasing chatter up. I would not risk starting sending him heart eyes or something equally mortifying. "So, I'm actually curious, why do you have a spare shirt in your bag, exactly?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Well, I teach kindergarteners for a living, so I've learned to always bring spare clothes. Who knows when the kids decide to have a paint fight or something?"

I chuckled, absorbed by his calm demeanor and quiet voice. "I see. I personally would not be able to live in that kind of danger. Clothes are very sacred to me, you see." The words left my mouth before even considering the ruined shirt in my bag.

"I'm so sor-"

"No, no!" I hurried to exclaim. "I didn't mean it like that, I'm sorry. I just meant… Gosh I'm not very good at this am I?"

He chuckled and I couldn't help but feel a bit better.

"I know. I'm still sorry though," he said, and his voice was so earnest, like he was genuinely feeling incredibly apologetic for the accident.

"I assure you, it's okay," I said with a slightly amused smile, and he bit his lip and oh… he needed to not do that because… Just, no. I hurried to say something before my mind crept me out even further. "And, I've totally forgotten how convenient spare clothes can be – I haven't carried them around since High School."

"You brought spare clothes to High School?" he sounded sincerely amused and curious as he asked.

And that was the starter for a conversation about childhood and we found out we were both from Ohio. I told him about McKinley, and narrow-minded idiots, and the New Directions, but strayed away from more personal info than that – I felt like I had told him way too much for a stranger today.

I found out he had been living in Westerville, just about two hours from me. He was a bit elusive while talking about himself, I noticed, but he kept looking at me with this genuine interest and curiosity, almost like he was intrigued. I had never met a person that perceptive and earnest, and once again, he sparked something in me, a deep sense of fascination and curiosity.

His eyes would still sometimes become completely undecipherable, mostly when we talked about him. He would keep asking me about me and my life, but in the end I felt like I had been babbling about myself and my life, while he just listened intensely.

"I feel rude here, Blaine," I said much later, after I had finished talking about Carrie Bradshaw for twenty minutes straight. "I keep talking about myself here. What about you?"

He shrugged, and once again his eyes became a mystery to me. "My life isn't very interesting, Kurt," he said, and the way he said it, like it was a simple fact rather than something I should pity him for… well, it did nothing for my growing fascination with him.

"I don't believe that," I insisted, moving slightly closer. "I know you grew up in Westerville and went to Dalton, which doesn't seem very uninteresting for me, considering I almost transferred there."

"Yeah, well why didn't you?" he asked, once again shifting the spotlight from himself.

"My dad didn't have the money," I shrugged, before turning the spotlight again. "I heard many great things about Dalton, though. And our show choir competed against yours. The Warblers, right?" He nodded. "I don't remember seeing your face, though."

"Well, I wanted to join, but," he started, but shifted uncomfortably, interrupting himself. "Well, my parents weren't fond of the idea, so…"

"How come?" I asked, a bit too eagerly.

He just shrugged while looking down at his hands, and didn't say anymore. I knew I had hit a sore spot and changed the subject. "But you like music?"

That turned out to be the right question to ask. Suddenly we were talking animatedly about favorite music and musicals, and moving on to movies and actors, then TV-shows and brainless reality-people. I felt like we could go on for hours, and he would still have something to ask or something to add. He was so easy to talk to – when the subject wasn't his personal life – and I immediately found myself liking him.

"Gosh, it has gotten late," I mumbled three hours later. "I'm so sorry, but I need to get home and make myself some kind of dinner. I have work tomorrow."

"Oh, of course, I'm sorry for keeping you," he said, and I nearly rolled my eyes at his (adorable) politeness. "I would offer to make dinner, but we just met, so I would feel slightly creepy if I did."

"Well, would it be weird if I did?" I asked, and slapped myself internally. Smooth Hummel. Real smooth. "My apartment is always so empty, and if you come with me you can get your shirt back as well." He smiled slightly, and I kept rambling. "And, of course it's not- I mean it's totally just as friends, I wouldn't be insinuating anything-"

"Kurt?" he interrupted, and I wanted to close my eyes in mortification, but couldn't quite tear my gaze away from his. "I would be delighted."

"Really?" I breathed and wow, I was really bad at this. "I mean, gosh how rude of me, don't you have a home and a boyfriend to get home to?"

Something seemed to deflate in his eyes at that, and I instantly felt bad for bringing it up. "Paul's out traveling," he said, and I understood the saddening in his eyes. If only that didn't bug me as much as it did... And God, why did it bug me?

"Great!" I said, "I mean, not great that your boyfriend's out traveling, but, you know, great that… I'm just gonna stop. Follow me." He laughed and I had to stop myself from swooning the tiniest bit. He had a really gorgeous laugh…

Aaaand, stop thinking, Hummel!

The walk to my apartment was quiet, but not in an awkward uncomfortable way. I realized that that was yet another ability Blaine had; he made me feel so strangely comfortable.

When we reached my apartment he had this glow in his eye – I detected it as awe. He looked around in my small living room/kitchen and gazed at the pictures.

"This' you?" he asked with his soft-spoken voice. I came up behind him and peeked over his shoulder, seeing the picture I had of my father and I. I was nine at that picture, and we were in the tire shop, arms slung over each other's shoulders – meaning his arm was over mine, while mine struggled to reach his. We were both smiling brightly into the camera.

"And my dad, yes," I said and smiled at the memory. It was just after my mother's death, and I remember that as the first happy moment after the tragedy. "I was nine."

"You look so happy," he said almost absentmindedly and there was something else in his voice; something even my super human-reading skills couldn't decipher.

"My dad means everything to me," I nodded. And then without thinking I added, "my mother died when I was eight, and we were pretty much each other's anchors after that."

He turned around, and I stepped back since we were suddenly way closer than what was appropriate. His eyes were wide and filled with empathy. What really touched me though, was how genuine it was; not the pity you saw in everyone else's eyes, when they tried to figure out how to react. He didn't do that. He simply looked at me with those damn eyes and said with his low, soothing voice, "I'm so sorry to hear that, Kurt."

I smiled at him and half-shrugged. "Yeah, well, it was a long time ago. I've learned to be able to look back at my memories with her and smile instead of cry."

"That's a step many only hope to reach," he said, like he meant it, like he actually cared, and I smiled.

"And all without a shrink to help me out," I said with a slightly playful voice. When he actually seemed impressed my modesty kicked in. "Don't look so impressed, it was all my father's doing. Like I said, we helped each other through it. Without him… well, I don't know where I would be." And, wow, I had not planned for that many words to come out of my mouth.

He didn't seem to mind, though, as he kept looking at me in that way and- longing! That was the thing I hadn't been able to read before. It was clearer this time when he redirected his gaze at the picture. I was just about to ask, when he said, in a very quiet voice, "So, your dad accepted you? You know, despite you being gay?"

The way he said it almost broke my heart, and that moment, I learned the first personal thing about Blaine Anderson; his parents did not accept the fact that he was gay.

"Yeah, he did," I said, stopping myself from saying that like it was a matter of course. "Said that he had known since I was three, and that he loved me for who I was."

"Oh," he said, like that was some kind of dream scenario. I felt my heart ache, wanting nothing more than to pull him into my arms. Before I reminded myself that we had just met, of course.

"I take it your parents weren't as accepting," I attempted, but I instantly saw how his body stiffened and his eyes got that wall up again, like he was hiding an entire life story in there. It both frustrated and intrigued me to no end.

"That obvious?" he said, and turned around again to look over more of my pictures. Before I could say anything, he spoke, "That her?"

I smiled fondly, momentarily forgetting his stiff body and obvious attempt to redirect the conversation. "Yeah," I said instead. "I was six at that picture."

"She was very beautiful," he commented and I bit my lip, trying to hold back the inevitable feelings that thinking about my mother elicited. "You have her eyes."

"People say that, yeah," I said, only being half truthful. People always said I looked exactly like her. I tried not to think about how he just hinted that I had beautiful eyes. Cut it, Hummel, that was not what he meant and you know it.

We kept looking at my pictures for a while. He would comment on some of them or simply smile. So many memories flooded my head when I looked at them, and I remembered how long ago I spent time looking at them; the pictures from my childhood, all including smiles and laughter, the ones from my high school years, my graduation – both of them – and my later life here in New York.

Somewhere while we gazed at the framed memories, I came to think how uneasy that would have made me feel in so many other companies – the intimacy of it all since the pictures where extremely personal and important to me.

But Blaine made me comfortable, more comfortable than I remembered being with anyone that wasn't family or close friends. I figured it was just his personality – the serenity he had, and the way he would look at you with those kind eyes, telling you he would never judge you. I quickly discovered that Blaine Anderson wasn't a person you stumbled across every day.

After I had showed him around and he had complimented my house – again sounding like he meant it more than people normally did – we gathered stuff to make dinner. I had decided that I had the energy to make something delicious after all and he quickly offered his help.

Luckily my kitchen was big enough for the both of us, and we could stand there somewhat comfortably albeit a bit close. I had found my mini-speaker, and we were both half-dancing along my cooking playlist, which mainly consisted of upbeat show tunes (due to our prior conversation, I now held the knowledge that we enjoyed the same taste in music, and I wasn't afraid to play that particular in most cases embarrassing list of songs).

All of this while making grilled salmon with my delicious pasta salad.

I had to admit I was impressed by his cooking skills; not many people out-cooked me, but I have to say he was close.

"You're an amazing cook, Kurt!" he said after the first bite, and I smiled taking a bite of the perfectly spiced and roasted salmon that he had made.

"I was just thinking how your cooking skills impressed me," I said with an easy smile. "I've yet had to meet a person that close to being a better cook than me."

He smiled bashfully, and I noted that he wasn't used to compliments, which, wow, okay, was his boyfriend stupid?

We talked easily while we ate, the comfort of his company never failing. I told him a lot about my dad and Carole and Finn. I was more personal than at the coffee shop, telling him about the stupid – repulsive – crush I had on Finn and the bullying I had endured in high school.

I even got a bit of personal things out of him, when we entered the subject bullying. He told me about his school and how he too was being bullied. He told me how he had been beaten up and that made his father transfer him to Dalton. I was slightly confused at that. I had gotten the impression that his parents were no way near accepting towards his sexuality, but they still transferred him to another school? When I delicately asked, though, his answer was cryptic, and not the "I was his son, and even if he disagreed with my sexuality, he wouldn't want to see me killed" I had been aiming and hoping for.

"I told him that it wasn't my sexuality that had caused the attack and he allowed me to transfer," was all he had said before rapidly changing the subject.

The food was long gone when I glanced at the clock again albeit reluctantly. It was getting late; I had work in the morning and Blaine probably had class. Still, I didn't want him to go. I didn't want the ease and comfort that I felt in his company to fade. So, I made a decision that probably wasn't very wise.

"Would you do me a favor?" I asked when we had removed the plates from the dining table. He looked at me with those eyes – honestly I've given up on trying to explain them – and said yes without even knowing what for. "I have this pathetically unopened wine from my birthday a few months back, and, as I've implied before, alcohol is not my best friend. Help me out and have a glass?"

He laughed at my elaborate question. "I would love to," he said and I hurried to get the wine. When I came back he, of course, was in the middle of the dirty dishes we had left after our dinner. I sighed at his politeness and shook my head.

"Blaine?" I asked and he turned around, rug in one hand and foam on his elbow. Once again I admired how handsome –meaning adorable, but you didn't think that about taken men – he really was. "You really don't have to wash my dishes. You're my guest, remember?"

He just shrugged. "I don't mind," he said and retreated the dish brush from the sink. "Dry or wash?"

I rolled my eyes with a smile, placed the wine in the fridge and took the brush – the politer choice, I decided. The silence as comfortable as always while I washed and he dried. I wondered how that kept being possible with a complete stranger.

When we finished I led Blaine into the sofa. "Now you stay here while I get the wine," I said pointedly and he chuckled. I hurried away before I let myself listen to it.

We instantly started talking animatedly, after some time, even more loosened up by the wine. At first I was mainly the one talking – after the open-up Blaine had had before, it didn't bother me too much. He seemed comfortable and content with simply listening and coming with input on my life, and I wondered if he really did possess such a natural interest in people or if he was simply playing polite. Something told me it was the first, though, if I read his eyes correctly.

After the wine had started working, though, he started talking a bit more – which interested me immensely, but that was another story.

We started discussing – even arguing – some of our favorite books and movies, feigning scandalization when the other wouldn't agree or overly exhilarated when we would be on the same side.

"Wait, wait, wait," he stopped me one point that evening, several hours after we had finished dinner, and by the second glass of wine. "You haven't read Harry Potter?!" This time he actually did seem scandalized. "Harry Potter?"

I smiled sheepishly, not being able to contain the smile caused by his enthusiasm. "I just… okay, do you want the sentimental story?"

He turned slightly suspicious but wary, the alcohol making every feeling he felt evident in his face. "Am I gonna regret my outburst in a bit?" he asked, not even bothering to answer my question. How were we able to feel like age-old friends when we had just met properly that very day? Wine really did wonders.

"Yep," I said teasingly and he just looked at me expectantly. I sighed. "Well. My mother-"

"Of course."

"Shush," I scolded, still with an amused grin, in spite of the touchy subject. I needed to keep this wine-trick in mind. "My mother used to love Harry Potter. On my eighth birthday I got the first book – The Sorcerer's Stone. She told me we were gonna read it together - I had just learned to read. But we never made it past the tenth chapter. After that I was just was never able to read them."

As expected Blaine's entire face had gone from wary to apologetic and empathic. "Gosh," he said quietly. His voice was so soothing and calm, somehow making me feel a bit better about the memory, which indeed was quite touchy. "I'm so sorry, Kurt."

"You know what you ought to do? Become one of those people that make audiobooks," I said, and yeah, maybe alcohol wasn't the best idea when I was with Blaine. I decidedly placed the wine on the table, having had enough. Time to save my ludicrous outburst… "Your voice is really calming and soft." Said in the most un-flirty and simply friend-giving-an-advice way, like I was talking about anyone else.

He looked bashful at the compliment, clearly showing that he wasn't used to them. What was wrong with that boyfriend again? Anyway.

Luckily he seemed to get an idea and he seemed to get a strange, but somehow fitting mix of sly and hesitant. "Well, if you think so, then I have an idea. I'm gonna take my Harry Potter books to your place, and we are gonna read them together. I could read aloud to you if you'd like, and when you felt comfortable enough we could switch it up a bit, take turns. You need to have the experience that is The Universe of Harry Potter. No matter your age. I know it sounds childish, but I'm a teacher so I'm allowed, and I know for a fact that childish is necessary sometimes."

After the many words – unusual for Blaine – I widened my eyes. I didn't miss the way he sounded defensive in that last sentence, like he expected me to disagree. I saved it in my memory for when I felt like a Blaine-analysis. Instead I focused on his other words and felt a grin spread on my face. "Blaine, that's an amazing idea," I said with a soft voice because, really, who did that for other people? "I would really love that. And I remember actually loving the start of the book."

He smiled and nodded decisively. It was then I knew that Blaine wasn't someone I would let go of anytime soon.

It was getting darker and darker outside when I, with great reluctance, stood. "Well, it's getting really late, and I have work in the morning," I said and tried not to let the chagrin in my voice show too much.

He nodded immediately and stood as well. "Of course, I totally forgot, I have class as well," he glanced at his wristwatch, his eyes widening. "Gosh, look at the time! I have to be at work in seven hours."

"Oh, I'm so sorry for holding you," I said, but he naturally shook his head.

"Don't worry about it, Kurt," he said, and oh no, his eyes had that genuine, breathtaking softness in them right now, didn't they? Yeah. I had really never come across eyes like them. "I really enjoyed tonight, and we both forgot the time."

I smiled and hurried to take the glasses, to do anything other than look into those damn wide orbs. "I had fun as well. You know, I'm really glad you spilled that coffee now," I said and he chuckled bashfully – another thing he really needed to stop doing. At that moment I remembered the shirt I was still wearing. Just when I was about to head to my bedroom and change so he could take it with him, he stopped me.

"No, no, don't, it's okay," he said. "If you insist that I need to get it back, then bring it to work tomorrow. I'll come by and get it after work. I need an excuse to meet you again anyway," he said with a hopeful voice and a playful smile.

"Yeah, sure," I nodded, not being able to stop the warmth in my stomach that his words elicited. I really loved making new friends apparently. Or maybe it was the wine. Yeah. "I'll take my break when you come, then."

He nodded with a satisfied smile.

"So can I-"

"Maybe we could-"

We chuckled and he, of course, let me go first. Bastard. "I was just gonna ask if it was too forthcoming to ask for you phone number, new friend," I asked, adding the 'friend' there, so he didn't think I was flirting with him or something.

"Why, I was just about to ask the same," he said with a stage-shocked voice.

I laughed and gave him my phone to write his number in. "Well, Mr. Anderson," I said after seeing his last name - hadn't heard that before. Blaine Anderson. Nice. "It was a great pleasure to have coffee spilled over my shirt by you, and then spontaneously make dinner with you."

He laughed and nodded. "While I'm still terribly sorry about the spill, I must say I enjoyed dinner quite a lot as well," he said with the same hideous English accent I had been using, before cracking up. We were so awfully not funny, but gosh, it was hilarious.

"We're awful," he repeated my thoughts and I nodded. We stopped laughing simultaneously, and ended up smiling at each other, suddenly quite close. I stepped back instantly, scolding myself. Of course I made it much worse for myself, because hey, I was me, when I without thinking stepped forward and hugged him briefly. First then I realized he must have slipped on his jacket and shoes while I put the wine glasses away.

He seemed startled at the contact, but welcomed it instantly, hugging me back, and gosh it had been long since I had hugged another man sober. Or, okay, fifty-nine percent sober. His smell instantly attacked my nostrils making me slightly weak in the knees. A strange, but somehow amazing mixture of something masculine and earthy and something sweet like vanilla...

Before I got intoxicated I stepped away, plastering a casual smile on my face. His seemed completely unforced, of course.

"I really did enjoy tonight, Kurt," he said with his easy smile.

"Me too, Blaine," I said sincerely, letting him go. "I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"Tomorrow," he confirmed. I smiled, and he returned it with a soft, beautiful one of his own that I'm positive made mine look vague and unattractive in comparison.

With that he turned around and exited the apartment.

I couldn't help but feel warm and strangely happy after he left. Not only was I on my way to discover the mystery that was Blaine Anderson, which meant that my mind would finally stop creeping me out, but he had also been so sweet and attentive. I had never met anyone so truthful and kind and caring. I had a feeling he could become one of my closest friends in no time – and maybe you haven't gathered that about me yet, but that is extremely rare.

That night I fell asleep with a smile on my face, blissfully unaware of all the things I was yet to realize.


A/N
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