It's so much fun getting your reviews for this story, and I sometimes wish I hadn't already completed writing it before publishing, because sometimes you give me the best ideas for what should happen next. But I hope you can live with my initial plot lines as well.

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or anything you might recognize, but I'm happy to borrow and play with them.


For some reason, Monty's Corner Store acts as if it suddenly was transported to rush hour, and Blaine can't remember ever having such a busy shift. Initially it was a pleasant change from the usual pace, but after an hour of feeling inadequate and a step behind everything, he's bugged out by it. The queue in front of the register seems endless, and there are all these questions from people who can't find that particular brand of canned tomatoes they bought some time last year ("I'm sorry I can't help you, I didn't work here last year, so I don't know if we've changed our tomato-supply source"), who wonder why they can't have three chocolate bars for the prize of two when that was on offer last week ("last week we had a special Halloween-offer, but I'm sure there will be new offers closer to Christmas, Miss"), if he happens to have the newspaper from two days ago ("I'm sorry, Ma'am, but I'm afraid we've returned those"), and the best ones are those who asked if he could suggest anything for dinner. The last thing he wants to think about when his stomach is growling, is food. Which is fairly difficult when you work in a grocery store, but at least he doesn't want to imagine menus and dinner options on top of it.

Blaine is beginning to feel the stress of combining school and work. Today, he had a late rehearsal with his song instructor to begin preparing one of his exams before Christmas, and he had an even later meeting with the Christmas Concert-committee he's lucky enough to be a part of. As a Freshman, it's an honour to be involved in something as important as that concert. He was Student President his Senior year back at Dalton, and he loves organizing and coordinating, pulling all the tiny details together to an impressive whole. But still, he's only a few months in his first year at Tisch, and he had no expectations when he applied. But his ideas and eagerness to participate had been appreciated, and he'd been accepted as part of the committee. Even if he'll end up simply cutting out red cardboard hearts, he'll still be happy. He'd worried he'd be lonely in New York, and drown in the big city. He'd worried he'd be simply average, plain and bland at Tisch, after standing out as lead singer at Dalton. But Tisch has treated him well so far, even though he didn't exactly live the classical social student life. But it was getting better, and he was determined to stay optimistic.

As he left school earlier today, he had coordinated the next study group-session over text messages, which had been quite a challenge. Santana was sulking over this or that, and didn't cooperate to her usual standards, which he by now had learned normally weren't that high to begin with. But he'd also learned to appreciate the girl in all her fierceness and no nonsense-attitude, and she was quickly becoming one of his closest friends in school. They'd often sit next to each other in classes, they organized study groups with some of the other students, they regularly met for lunch or coffee in between classes, he was introduced to her quirky girlfriend Brittany who he was still trying to decipher, and they'd exchanged phone numbers. Santana would sometimes send him scatching comments on clothes she observed on campus and found particularly old-fashioned and unacceptable. Usually, it was what Blaine wore. Sometimes, she'd send links to music he needed to hear, to quote unquote broaden his musical horizon. And sometimes, she'd send short movie clips of Brittany dancing while Santana watched her rehearse. Her pride and love for Brittany was obvious, no matter how cool and carefree she tried to portray herself, and Blaine envied her. He wanted a romance like that for himself. Someone to be proud of and someone who'd be proud of him, regardless and unconditionally.

When he came home to Cooper's apartment, he realized he'd forgotten to close the refrigerator door completely when he left in the morning. So instead of the quick dinner before leaving for work he'd planned, he spent the next hour throwing away every single item after the better safe than sorry-philosophy, and then scrubbing the fridge just in case. Then he was forced to run to the subway to avoid being late for his shift, and in the rush he forgot his wallet. Thank goodness his metro card was still in his back pocket from earlier.

So tonight he's tired, stressed, hungry and not his usual cheerful, polite cashier-self, and he really doesn't approve of himself. He's not up to par of his own standards; this is not a good enough representation of the Anderson work ethics.

To make it worse, Kurt The Gorgeous Customer has been walking aimlessly around in the store for the last fifteen minutes, and Blaine really wouldn't mind chatting with him about this or that. It would actually brighten his evening. After Halloween, Blaine had been so worried about him, knowing he was roaming the streets of Bushwick all by himself, far from sober. Anything could happen. Blaine had repeatedly beaten himself up over not having the decency to close the store for the hopefully short time it'd take to walk Kurt home. But by the time the idea struck him, like a thunderbolt, Kurt was already out of sight. Blaine knows, because he ran out of the store and out of the building, and looked in every direction. But no Kurt, and he had to leave the hopeless project, hoping everything turned out okay.

He wished he had the boy's number, so he could at least text him to make sure he came home all right, but he hadn't worked up the courage to ask for it yet. He didn't even know his last name, and to search online for a Kurt who probably lived in Bushwick was futile. Not a day went without Blaine thinking about him, and he'd even considered spending an afternoon in Bushwick to… To do what? Yeah, he didn't know either. Look for him in ditches or back alleys? Like some mash up of a Superhero and a Stalker? No, even Blaine knew there were limits. So he'd waited impatiently for his next shift at Monty's, and skimmed the local news for updates on gorgeous Peter Pan-lookalikes found killed.

To say that Blaine was relieved when he saw Kurt enter the store tonight, would be the understatement of the year. Blaine's creative imagination had developed quite a few scenarios of what could go wrong when walking alone at 3 AM under the influence. Even Santana had commented that he seemed distracted and jumpy. So when Kurt walked into Monty's, Blaine had to force himself to not run up to him, hug him, and tell him how happy he was to see him. But he'd assumed they'd at least get the chance to talk, exchange a few sentences, making sure he came back to the party all right. But with the amount of customers, and being alone on a night shift, because nights are supposed to be calm god damn it, it seems impossible to wedge in even a single word to him. It might be just as well, because he'd probably be all flustered around him by now. Blaine's having a terrible hair-day, and not even the big apron could save him when a jar of blueberry jam fell down from a shelf crashing on the floor next to him. His mustard-yellow pants are covered in purple splats. Why didn't he wear black jeans or something equally dark today?

In the end, Kurt catches his eyes and waves a goodbye as he leaves.

Fuck.

The next six hours of Blaine's shift are going to be torture of missed chances.

It's just passed midnight when the annoying cowbell startles him, almost making him drop the jug of water. He can't understand why Mr. Parker insists on having that damn noisemaker in the store.

"Just a minute!" Blaine calls from the backroom. With the store finally devoid of customers, he'd taken the opportunity to head back and make himself a pot of coffee. Goodness knows he'll need it to get through this shift on an empty stomach. He doesn't feel comfortable eating any of the food in his workplace, especially not when he can't pay for it until the next time he's working. If he forgot, it'd mean he stole from his boss, and that's unacceptable.

He double checks that the coffee maker is actually on, and leaves the backroom somewhat lighter, knowing he'll have coffee ready in ten minutes.

"You're back!" Blaine greets the customer surprised, excited, happily.

"That I am," Kurt says. "I was hoping it would be calmer by now."

"You don't like crowded rooms?" Blaine asks nonchalantly, but a colony of butterflies is lazily stretching their wings in his stomach.

"It makes it more of a challenge to have a nice conversation," Kurt shrugs, resting his chin in his hand, and elbow prodded to the counter.

"So how are you, Kurt?" Blaine asks, and removes a pen from the counter to keep his hands busy. At least it looks better than to fidget with his apron straps or bite his knuckles to prevent himself from taking Kurt's hand in his.

"I'm embarrassed," the young man blurts out.

"Okay… Why would you be that?" Blaine discreetly checks him out, and he can't fathom why Kurt would feel that way. He looks immaculately, he's always had excellent posture and manners around Blaine, and Blaine simply can't imagine a scenario where Kurt would make a fool of himself.

"Remember Halloween?" Kurt asks, hiding his face in both hands.

"Of course." It was only last week, and it had been a fun shift. It's not every day you get to serve bandits, cowboys, belly dancers and scary clowns. Or talk with Peter Pan. Especially that. Even if his drunken departure left you sleepless and worried.

"I came here to visit you late at night," Kurt whispers into his palms.

Oh, so is he embarrassed for leaving his party? Had he gotten into any trouble when he came back?

"Did… Are you…" Blaine doesn't know what to ask and how to ask it.

"Blaine," Kurt pleads desperately through his fingers, so much emotion in that single syllable. "I came to your workplace, drunk as a fool, and it must have been so awkward for you."

"Oh Kurt," Blaine smiles, and pries his hands off his face, holding them gently to make sure Kurt can't hide again. "You don't have to worry about that. I'm glad you came to visit. You brought me a slice of Halloween when I had to work. I thought it was kind of… endearing."

Kurt looks up, blushing.

"Endearing?"

"You seemed so captured in the spirit of Peter Pan, and I enjoyed seeing you so happy and…" Blaine stops himself before he says something that will truly be embarrassing. Like beautiful, or stunning, or playful, or tempting, or any other adjective he should most definitely keep to himself.

"So you're not upset with me, or humiliated, or mortified by your returning customer?"

"I'm not," Blaine promises with his right hand above his heart. Kurt snorts at him, and that's how Blaine knows they are fine.

"I've been here every day to see if you were working, but I really don't know your schedule. I'm glad I finally found you, so I could apologize and clear the air."

"There never was any reason to apologize."

"Still, I've made these Please-don't-hate-me-cookies, and I'm glad I can give them to you at last," Kurt says, and brings a plastic container from his satchel. It smells delicious. "They are of course not from Halloween, I've made new cookies each afternoon in the hope of finding you."

Kurt places the container on the counter and peals off the lid. The smells of freshly baked and chocolate and cinnamon and something else swirl straight into Blaine's nose and down to his furious stomach.

"God, I love you!" he blurts out.

Kurt looks at him for a second, and smiles crookedly.

"So I guess the please-don't-hate-me-cookies work, then?"

"I'm sorry," Blaine chuckles, "it's just that I'm starving, and you're kind of a lifesaver right now."

"Well, now I'm really glad I decided to come back one more time tonight."

"Do you have time to stay?" Blaine asks eagerly. "The coffee should be done in the backroom, if you drink coffee?"

"Do I drink coffee?" Kurt scoffs. "Does Alexander McQueen make okay clothes? Do you have any other stupid questions for me?" he asks playfully.

"I hope black is okay."

"I guess you don't happen to have a grande nonfat mocha back there. But black goes to everything; I'll manage."

Soon after, they are both leaning on the counter with hot coffee mugs in their hands and the cookies between them.

"Eat," Kurt encourages, "you're not going to die from starvation on my watch."

Blaine blushes, but helps himself to a third cookie.

"They are so delicious," he moans around a mouthful.

"My roommates will be so upset you were here tonight," Kurt admits. "They've been fed cookies for the last five nights," he adds with a smirk, laughing at Blaine's confused expression.

A few times, they are interrupted by late night customers who drop by for that gallon of milk for tomorrow's cereal, a box of condoms, toilet papers, or other emergency purchases. But for the next hour they are mostly alone, sipping at their second mugs of coffee and talking about whatever comes to mind.

Finally, Kurt's yawning frequency is too frequent to ignore, and he decides to retreat to his apartment.

"Who knows, maybe I'll even manage to sleep a few hours without Ambien tonight."

"Are you having sleeping problems? You should have told me, I didn't mean to boost you with all that caffeine right before bed. I didn't think that far, I should have realized not everyone needs to be perky and present in mind until 5 AM…"

"Don't worry about it, Blaine," Kurt rests a warm hand on his upper arm. "I've tried everything to fall asleep, including cutting out my coffee. It still doesn't help. So Ambien it is."

"Oh," Blaine says sadly, because he's always been good at falling asleep whenever he has the possibility, and he can't imagine how horrible it must be to not get enough sleep even when you're tired and just want to close your eyes and disappear. "Well, I do wish you sweet dreams. And thank you so much for the cookies, they were delicious, and I refuse to share with your roommates."

"Stay alert," Kurt laughs at him, and gives him a little wave as he leaves the tiny grocery.

Blaine had accidentally and as a joke told Kurt that he loves him. It may very well be on its way to be the truth, he realizes as Kurt leaves.