"So tell me, Kurt Hummel. What brings you to Los Angeles?"

Kurt sipped his latte. "I'm a crime fighter who masquerades as a tired law intern."

"Touché."

"You tell me, Blaine Anderson. What brings you to Los Angeles?"

Blaine chuckled and leaned back, fiddling with an empty sugar packet. "I can't think of anything witty to say, so I'll just tell the truth. After I graduated I moved here, much to my parents' disapproval. It was the first thing I've ever done that they didn't like."

Kurt smirked. "You were always the obedient one."

"So, I enrolled in UCLA for music and film. Been here ever since. I play shows at small venues during the summer and share an apartment with friends."

"Hence the guitar?"

"Hence the guitar."

Kurt looked thoughtful. "I guess I have to tell you something true, now.." He took another sip from his latte. "I did sleep at the office."

Blaine shook his head in confusion. "But..why? They can't make you work that hard."

Kurt gave him a humorless smile. "You underestimate the Law Offices of Hadley and Morgan. And-" he held up a hand to stop Blaine from talking "-I know what you're going to say. Why would I be there there if I'm so tired and I have to work so hard? Because they happen to be the most successful firm in LA. I was lucky to be offered the internship."

It didn't make sense. This was Kurt, the boy who had been playing with makeup and clothing since he was able to crawl and had dozens of collages from fashion magazines by the time he was six. Sure, it was common for career choices to change as people grew up, but there was no way that someone like Kurt would deviate so far from personal interests. But, something in the brunette's eyes told Blaine that this part of the conversation was over, and he decided to let it go. They sat there in silence for a moment, before Blaine shifted awkwardly. "Look. I don't want to make you talk about things you don't want to. Was there anything you enjoyed about high school?"

Kurt got a wistful look in his eye. "..there was Glee Club."

Score! Blaine cheered mentally, not out loud. (Because how dorky would that be?) But he was happy to have found something they still had in common. "That's great! You sang?"

Kurt nodded. "Did you?"

"Yeah! I ended up going to this private school in Massachusetts called Dalton Academy, we were the Dalton Academy Warblers."

Kurt smirked again, something Blaine was beginning to find both irritating and endearing. "Sounds kind of like Gay Hogwarts."

Blaine snorted. "Not quite. It was bad for personal identity, though. They had a zero-tolerance policy, but were pretty big on conformity and unity." He thought about what Wes and David called his 'dapper phase', where he had slicked his hair back with copious amounts of hair gel and done his best to erase the part of himself that stuck out. Thinking about it made him feel pretty stupid, and once again he thanked the stars that he had decided to pursue what he loved. Sure, Wes and David had been an unexpected part of the package, but he loved them anyway. (Even if they could be complete asshats) "Tell me about your Glee Club."

Kurt's mouth quirked to one side. "It was the only place outside of my home where I felt that I could be myself without consequences. There were people in it who really liked me for me and weren't afraid of 'catching the gay'. Our teacher, Will Schuester...he meant well, but he had personal drama of his own that often interfered with the club. It was fun, nonetheless, but we disbanded my senior year. Not enough members." He chuckled. "The stories I could tell you."

Blaine wasn't sure if Kurt's story was the happiest or saddest thing he had ever heard. Not for the first time since Kurt had come back into his life, he felt a deep pang of regret that he had not been able to be there for the younger boy.

"I know what you're thinking."

Blaine raised an eyebrow. "You do?"

Kurt nodded. "So you can stop the gentlemanly crap. You being there would not have made a difference. Nothing would have changed."

Blaine was a little miffed about being called out, as most people found the gentlemanly part of him absolutely charming. Then again, Kurt was not most people. So he decided to protest, instead. "Why don't you think so? I could have been there for you, I could have helped you-"

Kurt held up a hand to cut him off, lips pressed in a thin line. "Trust me. It wouldn't have made a difference."

Blaine gave a little huff of frustration and leaned forward, voice low. "Kurt. What aren't you telling me?"

There was a beat of Kurt staring back at him, and then the other stood up, the legs of his chair screeching across the linoleum floor and drawing the attention of several nearby patrons. "I think that's enough catching up for today." He grabbed his suit jacket and satchel, starting for the door. "Thanks for the coffee."

Blaine stood up too, cursing his stupidity and the damage he had done to the fragile tendrils of what could possibly be a friendship. "Wait!" Kurt stopped. "I'm sorry. Will you come to my show tomorrow night? It's at the Blue Brick Cafe, 8-9." Kurt looked over his shoulder, small smile on his lips.

"Possibly."

And then he was gone again, the tinkling of bells on the door signifying his departure. The cafe, which had turned mostly silent, slowly began to come alive with chatter once more. Blaine rubbed circles on his temples and met the gaze of one nosy barista. He smiled, what Wes and David called his 'I'm charming so screw you' smile. "Can I help you?" The barista quickly looked away and Blaine sighed, downing the dregs of his coffee. At least he had made progress with Kurt. Possibly.

The next two days were ridiculously nerve racking. Wes and David weren't around much, claiming that Blaine playing all of Katy Perry's albums on repeat required them to camp out and the video game store in order to purge themselves of the glitter that had taken root in the apartment. When he wasn't listening to the pop goddess, Blaine was thinking about not thinking about Kurt (he was failing) and obsessively going over every song on the setlist for the show. Even though his roomates were constantly reminding him that he didn't even know if Kurt was coming, Blaine wanted to be ready. The last time Kurt had heard him sing had been before they hit puberty, so the standards were a little higher. He didn't feel twenty years old, he felt like he was back in high school, getting up the courage to ask out or kiss his first boyfriend. Blaine was pretty positive that he didn't want to lose Kurt again.

Kurt. Kurt was a mystery. It was frustrating, because he could mostly piece together Kurt after the move and Kurt today. But there was something missing, information that he was sure he wouldn't be able to figure out on his own. He had to wait and see if Kurt still wanted anything to do with him.

For a minute Blaine thought that he might be in love with Kurt. And then dismissed it.

Because it was a ridiculous thought.

Right?

He had just gotten out of a bad relationship, had his heart smashed into a thousand pieces. He hadn't even admired a nice ass since the breakup, (well, maybe that wasn't strictly true) but he definitely had not thought about loving again.

Dale Fincher had been a true All-American Boy. (His name was Dale, I mean come on) Great student and star football player, he lived in a frat house and hosted parties almost every weekend. Broad-shouldered, tall, and muscular, he had not been the kind of guy Blaine would ever think about dating. But Dale had relentlessly courted Blaine, bringing roses to his performances and leaving little love notes in his bag. Finally, despite the warnings from every gay in the music/theater community that Dale was a player and went after everyone he thought was hot, regardless of their gender, Blaine agreed to date him. The first few weeks had been fantastic. Romantic dates, amazing sex, up until the the four separate occasions where Blaine had walked in on Dale with someone else.

On came the playlists of songs about broken hearts and the crumpled up pieces of notebook paper with song lyrics about broken hearts. Cartons of ice cream, every Jennifer Aniston movie ever made. Up until Wes and David declaring an intervention and shoving him outside so he could 'stop being a woman and find that part of him that made him a tiny bit masculine again'. So no, he was not ready to be in love.

But Blaine had to admit that there was something there, some rekindled feeling that burned in his chest when Kurt was around. He really didn't want it to go away.

"He's not here. Oh my god, he's not here."

David sighed. "Don't make me smack you, man."

Wes nodded. "That goes for me, too. We've been over this. He said 'possibly'."

All three boys turned their attentions to the cafe. It was an average venue, with a smooth linoleum floor and prints of flowers and cabins adorning the walls. There was a gelato and coffee bar at the back, and a space had been cleared in the front for a performance area. It was pretty busy, seeing as how it was a Friday night, and the air was abuzz with idle chatter.

The manager came over to the three boys with a slightly annoyed expression on his face, wiping his hands on his apron. "Blaine, I gave you your ten minutes. Can we get this show on the road?"

"Sorry," Blaine mumbled, picking up his guitar. He liked being an optimist, but sometimes it really sucked to have your hopes crushed. He knew Kurt had said 'possibly', that 'possibly' had been playing through his mind since Kurt walked away. Was it so wrong for him to hope that 'possibly' mean yes?

Someone brought a microphone up to the stool where Blaine sat, and someone else flashed the lights. Wes and David were gone with final pats on the back, and the cafe slowly quieted.

Blaine took a deep breath and switched on the microphone, shooting the audience a grin. "Hello, ladies and gentlemen, how's everyone doing the fine summer night?"

There was a collective cheer in reply, and Blaine chuckled. "Good, that's great. Now, this first song I'm going to sing is not one of my own. It's from a movie all of you should know, about this chick with red hair and a tail who lives under the sea, or something."

A few polite chuckles.

Not my best night. He could see Wes and David wincing from the back.

"So...here we go." Blaine strummed the opening chords to 'Part of Your World'

"I wanna be where the people are

I wanna see, wanna see 'em dancing

Walking around on those-

Whaddya call 'em?"

There were a few disjointed calls of "Feet!", and Blaine smiled.

"Oh, feet.

Flippin' your fins you don't get too far

Legs are required for jumpin', dancin'

Strolling along down the..what's that word again?"

"Street!" came the answer from the audience, but Blaine had stopped paying attention. The cafe door had opened and in walked Kurt Hummel, wearing a double-breasted, yellow peacoat and coal-colored skinny jeans. The tightest jeans Blaine had ever seen.

A raised eyebrow from Kurt made Blaine come back to reality, hastily jumping into the chorus.

"Up where they walk

Up where they run

Up where they stay all day in the sun!

Wandering free

Wish I could be

Part of that world."

He's here! He's here! He's here! Blaine shouted mentally, unable to keep a smile off of his face now. Much to his horror, Wes and David had spotted Kurt also, and seemed to be doing what looked like maneuvers from a bad spy movie. But he had to keep playing.

"What would I give

If I could live

Out of these waters

What would I pay

To spend a day

Warm on the sand, oh!"

He looked at Kurt again and swelled up in pride. The look on the younger boy's face is somewhere between shock and adoration, a sweet expression that makes him look far younger than he was. Blaine put a renewed effort into his playing and singing, letting emotion pour into each word. He wondered if Kurt was thinking the same thing he was, about their Disney marathons as children and the soundtracks they played over and over again.

"Ready to know what the people know

Ask 'em my questions and get some answers

What's a fire and why does it

What's the word?

Burn

When's it my turn?

Wouldn't I love

Love to explore that shore up above

Out of the sea

Wish I could be

Part of that world..."

He trailed off, playing a few more chords, and then stopped, smiling. The audience clapped and cheered, but Blaine's eyes were glued to Kurt. He was clapping, slowly, but the amazed look had been replaced by raised eyebrows and a smirk. A challenging look that said 'You want to win me over? This is the way, and I'll decide if you're good enough.'

Challenge accepted.

The next hour and a half was the most fun Blaine had had in a while. He cycled through every song he knew that was relevant, veering far from the setlist and improvising most of it. Frank Sinatra, Katy Perry, Elton John. Medleys and mashups, he wore out most of the musical ideas he had ever fiddled around with. The crowd ate it up, singing along when they could and clapping when they couldn't. No one seemed to notice that the clock had run over time, and the manager didn't stop him.

When he finished his final song, breathing rather heavily, the audience rose to a standing ovation. Wes and David were probably the loudest. Although they had heard him sing a million times, it had never quite been with the exertion of tonight.

After Blaine bowed, people began to pick up their bags and filter out. He took a long swig from his water bottle and began to zip up his guitar, acknowledging the "Great job, man!"s and "I'm definitely coming to hear you again sometime"s with a wave.

Kurt was waiting by the bar, and even though his jaw was sore Blaine was beaming by the time he reached him.

"So. What'd you think?"

Kurt nodded thoughtfully. "It was alright."

"..oh."

Kurt punched him in the arm. "Don't be stupid! I was joking. You were fantastic." He looked Blaine in the eye, and the softness was back. "I really mean it."

The swell of Blaine's chest was almost visible, and he felt that his face would split in two, he was smiling so hard. "Thanks, Kurt. That really means a lot."

Kurt smirked. "Although, you didn't have to try so hard."

There was a beat, and then they both broke into laughter. And then Blaine felt a sudden tap on the shoulder. He turned to face whoever it was, and his smile faded.

Dale.

He sighed. "What do you want?"

The handsome blonde looked sheepish. "I just want to talk."

Blaine turned back to Kurt, who looked less than impressed. "Sorry, Kurt. This'll only take a second." Turning back to Dale, he took him by the arm and led him a few steps away.

"Make it fast," he hissed.

Dale took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Blaine. I'm sorry that I cheated and I'm sorry that I hurt you. You deserve so much better than what I can give you. You're so talented and gorgeous." He ran a thumb down Blaine's jawline, who couldn't help but shiver. "We had wonderful thing and I destroyed it, I know, but I'm asking you-no, begging you for a second chance."

Blaine didn't know what to say. He had been so hurt and angry, and Dale and at himself for letting someone in so quickly. What he hadn't expected was an apology, and he could feel his resolve starting to melt. He backed away a little bit, holding up both hands. "Dale, I..you can't. You can't do that to me. You can't hurt me like that and just expect everything to be alright when you say sorry."

Dale hung his head, looking like a kicked puppy. "I know. We can take it slow, I promise. Whatever you want."

Despite all of the warning bells going off in his head, Blaine found himself nodding. "Maybe. Taking it slow."

Dale was a lying, cheating bastard. This was true. But he could also be unbelievably sweet and affectionate. They could have intelligent conversations. Blaine could talk about music and Dale would listen, even if he didn't understand, and Dale could talk about sports and Blaine would listen. (Because he mostly did understand) Weekends with Dale were lazy and fun, (besides the occasional frat party where things did get very out of hand) and Blaine was lonely. (And maybe not quite over Dale yet)

Dale grinned. "Great!"

The next Blaine knew, he was being kissed. Sloppy, open mouthed kisses that involved lots of tongue. He may have kissed back for a second, but at the indignant gasp and door slam from behind him shoved Dale away. He wiped his mouth. "What happened to taking it slow?"

Dale shrugged. "Sorry, babe. Couldn't help myself." Blaine groaned, running over to pick up his guitar.

"I have to go." He left, Dale's "Call me!" fading behind him. Kurt had gone once again, and he craned his neck over crowd of people, trying to catch a glimpse. Finally seeing the flash of a yellow coat climbing into a cab, Blaine went to run for it, but a hand on his arm yanked him back. Wes handed him a card with a number neatly scrawled on it, and crossed his arms.

"Kurt says to..." he turned to David. "What was it again?"

"Call him when-"

"Right! Call him when you're done with the poster boy for the Aryan Race. Or Mr. Tongue. I don't know, there was name-calling."

David nodded. "Lots of name-calling. It was great. Can we keep Kurt? He's kind of funny."

"He's a lot funnier than Dale."

Blaine sank to the pavement, phone number crumpled in his fist, and vowed to call Kurt as soon as it was appropriate. You just can't stop the gentleman thing, can you?