Two Months Later

Kurt emerges from the theatre, squinting into the bright sunlight, and runs as fast as he can. The subway out to Mapleton seems to take forever, but then he's bursting out of the station and taking the last few blocks to his building as quickly as he can.

"Off-Broadway!" he yells, throwing open the door.

Anna and Meredith lie on the apartment floor, locked in an intense game of checkers, but they both look up quickly. "What?!"

"Stirred not Shaken, that musical I was telling you about? I got it! It's gonna play off-Broadway!"

The girls are on their feet in an instant, shrieking their delight and even Meredith, who can often be temperamental, kisses him and hugs him close, genuinely happy for her friend. "What part?"

"Only a supporting role," Kurt says, blushing slightly. "But I do have lines. I play one of the British spies trying to take out the Russians."

"But that's still so excellent!" Anna cries, and Meredith quickly agrees.

"Off-Broadway is still huge! It's the closest any of us have gotten to that star role. Screw Blaine Anderson and his crappy opinion; you clearly have talent or they wouldn't have cast you, right?"

"There were a lot of us," Kurt says, his confidence soaring. "Yeah."

"This is the best stepping stone in the history of stepping stones," Anna says, kissing his cheek again. "You are going to take the world by storm."

From there, Kurt continues to thrive. The rehearsal period for the musical is longer than his previous shows, meaning he can keep his job at the coffee shop, and he finds that the income from three shifts a week, combined with his wages from the show, mean that he can afford some new clothes and a sharp new haircut with blond streaks.

The rude customer he had served all those months ago returns twice; Kurt guesses the shop must be on his route home, but each time, Kurt finds some reason to disappear out back and leave Karl to work the counter. The customer gets his coffee to go, probably to avoid having to leave a fifty dollar tip to cover his rudeness.

The night Stirred not Shaken opens in mid-May, Kurt feels a thrill like he's never felt before. His dad, Anna, Meredith and her parents are all in the audience to support him and Blaine Anderson never even crosses his mind. He knows he gives the best performance of his career so far. He knows this, not only from the roar of approval from the crowd, but from his director, who seeks him out specifically to tell him how pleased he was with his efforts.

After the show, he heads out for dinner with his dad and they talk over each other a mile a minute; both too excited to wait for the other to finish.

"Also Frank, my director, said he's in talks for three more possible shows, and he made me promise I'd audition!"

"Really? Wow," Burt says with a laugh. "You know-"

"I mean, it'll still be off-Broadway, but I'm nearly there, dad, and I've only been out of college less than a year! Others wait a lifetime."

"- Logan would be so proud."

Kurt stops talking and hangs his head, swallowing down the lump of emotion that he can feel building. "Yeah," he says quietly. "He would."

"I'm sorry. I've killed the buzz now."

"No, you haven't." Kurt looks up and smiles brightly, raising his beer in a toast. "To Logan."

When Kurt wakes the next morning, he doesn't rush out to the newsstand on the corner to catch the reviews. This time, he decides he doesn't care. He reads a few online that Meredith shows to him and he's happy to find that they're okay. One even mentions him by name, singling him out as really giving his all to the performance. Almost all agree that the basic premise of the show is decent, but that the script still needs some work; but that makes Kurt even more hopeful that he might be cast in a lead role if the show ends up getting reworked and taken on tour.

Despite having to say goodbye to his dad, Kurt is buzzing when he gets to the theatre that night. He's surprised to find Anna lingering by the stage door, fresh from her dance rehearsal at a nearby theatre.

"Is everything okay?"

"I guess," she says with a shrug. "I don't know. Have you got a minute?"

"Sure."

Anna smiles, but then she looks unsure of how to proceed, frowning and twirling a piece of hair around her finger. "There was another review."

"Him?"

"I'm afraid so, yes. Online and in print. It's not as scathing as all the others, but..."

"Do you have a copy?"

"I can send you the link if you want to read it, but I wouldn't if I were you."

"No, no, I want to. I mean, I'm going to ignore whatever it is he says anyway, because clearly I am fabulous." He laughs as he says it, but inside he's already worrying, and he can feel his nerves starting to build.

"You are!" Anna agrees brightly. "You really are! And your director agrees. All the other critics agree so please, just ignore it."

"Oh I will." He leans down, kissing her cheek. "Don't worry about me. I'd better go, but send the link to my phone."

Of course, as soon as he's in his dressing room he tucks himself away in a corner and opens the link. Anna is right; Blaine Anderson's review is not as scathing as previous ones have been, and Kurt has to admit that the way he writes is very eloquent and controlled, even when pointing out the same flaws in the script that the other critics had noted. Then suddenly, Kurt's name is mentioned.

"All credit to director Frank Fisher, who has taken a brave decision in casting Kurt Hummel as Agent Samuels. Having seen Hummel in a number of productions, I have never been inspired. I was hoping for a change here but sadly that was not to be. Hummel can certainly sing; his solo verses in two numbers is evidence of this, but I do wish he would learn to engage with the audience. I feel that, as long as Hummel keeps himself shut off and remote, he will be entirely unable to keep anyone engaged longer than it takes to admire his quiff, which seems to be growing each time I see him.

One can only assume that Fisher was blinded by Hummel's blue eyes instead of his talent; and this will no doubt be a casting decision he will come to regret."

Kurt wants to yell. He wants to hurl his phone across the room, stamp his feet, and upend every vase of flowers in the room, but he doesn't. Very conscious that he has to share the dressing room with four others, he stays stock still and quietly sets his phone on the counter. He tries hard not to lose it but then he blinks, and two tears roll slowly down his cheeks. Bolting to the bathroom, he locks the cubicle door, and sobs into his fist.

From the second the curtain rises, he knows he is off his game. Everything seems to go wrong from start to finish and for once, he is grateful when the end of the show comes. It's only his second night but this time, when the director seeks him out, it's to ask him what the hell had happened, and to demand that he makes a return to form tomorrow.

Shrugging off all offers of heading out to eat, or to go to a club, he walks across the street and heads to the bar he passes each day. It is small, dark, and relatively quiet for a Saturday night in Manhattan. He sits on a stool; content to watch the bartender for a moment before getting served.

"Whiskey and soda," he mumbles. "Double."

"I'll get it."

Kurt looks up and to his surprise, he sees the man from the coffee shop standing there. Once again he's in a suit- navy blue this time, with a red tie- and he gives a curt nod in Kurt's direction.

"Thanks," Kurt says as the man pays for his drink and gets one for himself. "I really need this."

"Let me guess; you're fighting a battle other people know nothing about?"

"Ha! No. This time everyone knows about it. Feels that way, anyway." He takes a large mouthful of his drink and chokes hard. "Shit."

"You okay?"

"I've not had whiskey before."

"Why did you order it then?"

"My dad always has one after a tough day. I thought I'd try it."

The man says nothing, but sips on his own drink, and in doing so, only serves to make Kurt feel even more awkward and clumsy than he does already. He can feel his anger, bitterness and resentment building and he knows he's in the mood to argue.

"Why do you always look so pissed off?"

The man smiles; "You've seen me twice."

His perfect smile takes Kurt off-guard for a moment, but he quickly recovers and glares at him instead. "You've been in the shop a few times now," he says smugly before realizing he's caught himself out.

"Ah! So you do still work there. Are you avoiding me?"

"Usually, yes," Kurt says honestly. "You're rude and arrogant."

"I tipped you fifty bucks to say sorry."

"Which only makes you seem even more arrogant."

The man shrugs, and downs the rest of his drink. "Here," he says, throwing twenty bucks down. "Get yourself another."

"That's it?" Kurt calls as he starts to walk away. "That's all you've got to say?"

"What do you want me to say?" he asks, and for the first time, Kurt senses he's riled.

"You're just throwing money at the problem again."

"You're not a problem," he says, walking back to Kurt's side and smiling once more. "Your attitude is."

"I told you, I've had a bad day. And I don't like you."

"Fair enough. So I'll go."

"Why aren't you angry at me?"

"For not liking me?" He shrugs again. "Most people don't."

"Doesn't that bother you?"

"Nope."

"Wow." Kurt laughs, and signals to the bartender for two more drinks. "Yeah, you and I are nothing alike."

"How come? You want people to like you?"

"Yeah. Well, one guy in particular."

"Sheesh. I know you're young, but that sounds very high school to me. Get over it."

"No, not like that. He keeps...ugh. He keeps saying mean stuff about me, and it's getting me down."

"Again, get over it."

"I can't."

Kurt pays for the drinks, brushing the man off with a death glare when he tries to hand his twenty over. Surprised, he picks the drink up, tilting his glass in Kurt's direction.

"Thanks. So. Who is this guy?"

"I don't know. I've never met him."

"Yeah, again, get over it."

"You have no idea, okay?" Kurt cries. "I'm an actor, and some idiot hack is trying to ruin my career before it's even begun, by criticizing every performance I give, and I've had enough!"

"Why does his opinion matter?"

"Because!"

"Because what? You're presumably doing what you want to do with your life, you're getting roles, so who gives a damn what some idiot hack thinks?" He stops, and reaches out with his right hand. For a moment, it seems as though he might be about to gently squeeze Kurt's shoulder, but then he thinks better of it, and lightly punches his arm instead. "Really, don't worry."

Kurt finds himself looking up into his dark eyes, and smiling in spite of himself. For some reason, his touch has suddenly made everything that much more real, and he wishes he would touch him again. "Thanks," he says softly. "You know, when I saw you come in here, I thought my evening was going to get a whole lot worse, but you're...maybe not as bad as I thought you were."

The man laughs loudly, and drains the rest of his drink. "You don't like me, remember?"

"Well..." Embarrassed, Kurt sips on his drink as an awkward silence ensues. The noise of the bar bubbles all around them but all he can focus on is the fact that this devastatingly handsome man is standing right next to him, probably about to leave now that he's finished his drink, and Kurt doesn't know what to say. "Where have you been, this evening?"

"Watching a play."

"Oh? Any good?"

"Could be better." There's a twinkle in his eye as he says it, and it makes Kurt's insides flip over. He knows he's getting sucked in; he knows this charm is only a cover for his arrogance but damn if he can't help himself right now.

"I'm Kurt, by the way," he says, offering his hand. "Kurt Hummel."

The man shakes it, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "I know who you are."

"You do?"

"Indeed. I'm Blaine Anderson."