I have had terrible back pains the last days, so I needed to write myself a fairly fluffy alternative first meeting.
Prompt December 14th: Needle
Blaine twists and turns in the dressing cubicle, and waves his arms like some kind of helicopter to see if the suit can stand some dancing.
"Excuse me, is everything okay?" a gentle voice asks through the curtain. Blaine recognizes it as belonging to the young man who assisted him in picking out this particular suit. It may have been his eyes and his ass more than his compelling description and arguments that convinced Blaine to try it on. But it actually fits him well, except for one small thing.
Blaine pulls the curtain to the side, and smiles at the gorgeous sales assistant.
"I love it, I really do. But it needs hemming, I'm afraid," Blaine smiles shyly, and tugs at the slightly too long legs.
"That's not a problem; we offer that as part of our service. Let me do measurements, and you can pick this beautiful suit up in two days." He's already halfway down by Blaine's feet.
"I actually need it tonight, for an unexpected event I was invited to," Blaine says apologetically. Carmen Tibideaux invited – which means summoned – him to perform at a dinner for teachers and head staff tonight.
"Oh," the young man blushes, and looks up and down Blaine's legs from the floor. He looks behind him, towards the rest of the shop. "It's a quiet afternoon; I could try to do it now. I can't leave and use the sewing machine in the back, but if you don't mind hand-sewing I can do it in here," he says, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth as if he's nervous. He must be new in this job, Blaine muses.
"That's generous of you. Thank you."
Blaine stands still, hardly breathing, while the kneeling man folds the hems, securing them with pins.
"Like this?" he asks, leaning back on his haunches, and Blaine spins in front of the mirror.
"Perfect," he beams, and the man nods satisfied.
When he's standing up again, he looks pointedly at Blaine.
"I'll need the pants, then."
"Oh! Oh, of course," Blaine says flustered, and fiddles with the fly in front of the employee.
"So I'll just be waiting over there," he says with a shrill voice, and turns abruptly. It makes Blaine realize what he's doing, and flushed he backs into the cubicle again, where he changes back to his own clothes.
He finds the helpful salesman by the register, and hands him the suit. The man has already found needle and thread, and sits down on a tall stool
"It's a really good suit, so I hope you'll get to wear it again, and not just tonight."
"We'll see," Blaine ducks his head. "If it's up to me, I'll happily wear it repeatedly. It's a stunning fabric, and I love the cut."
"It'll make you stand out even more," the man comments, a fierce blush covering his cheek bones, and he starts working on the right leg.
"I'll be on a stage, so I think I'll garner some attention regardless," Blaine chuckles.
"Oh, so you're a performer?"
"Ask me again in six months or so, when I've graduated, to find out if I'm a poor, struggling unemployed artist, or if I'm happily working my ass off with my first project," Blaine grins.
"And on what kind of stage would I see you?"
"Hopefully Broadway," Blaine admits bashfully. It still feels like such a pipe dream, something a naïve teenager salivates over until he gets a reality check. But he's been doing well at NYADA so far, and some of his teachers have already promised him glowing recommendations and namedropping within their networks.
"Wow, that's really great! I'll be looking out for your name, then. Which is…?"
"Blaine. Blaine Anderson," he introduces himself, and extends a hand. The other man shakes it, and gives him his name.
The name Kurt Hummel rings a bell, but he can't quite connect the dots.
"You're good at that," Blaine comments, watching Kurt's deft fingers fix his pants in no time.
"It would be a waste of money if four years at Parsons didn't teach me at least some basic hemming," the boy snorts.
Blaine prevents himself from commenting how four years at Parsons made him a sales assistant, because that would be considered an insult, and it really isn't his business to judge people's career choices. Besides, if he might be a struggling artist come graduation, who says Kurt can't be a struggling whatnots?
His name still sounds familiar, though.
"I'm sorry, that was rude," the young man says more softly, gazing briefly at Blaine before looking down at his pants again.
"No, not at all. My comment was lame. I'm just terrible with…" Small talk, his brain suggests. "Flirting," his lips executes.
The other man looks at him, looking startled.
"Is that what you were doing?" he asks, sounding… excited?
"Case in point. I don't think it's considered smooth if I have to tell someone what I'm trying to do…"
Kurt laughs thrillingly at him.
"It's a good thing you're cute, and can get away with it," he winks.
"That was a good line," Blaine comments, and scratches his neck in embarrassment.
"It's more than just a line," Kurt smiles, and somehow manages to look at him through his eyelashes from below, even while sitting on the tall stool. Blaine takes a hold of the counter to make sure he can stay up on his feet. Silly weak knees.
Kurt opens two different drawers, and frowns when he can't find what he's looking for. He ends up cutting the thread with his teeth, and it helps create images in Blaine's head of better things that mouth could do. He watches Kurt fold the suit carefully, all the while throwing quick glances accompanied by a smile at him, before he tucks the suit in a garment bag, and rings up the register. Blaine gives him his card, and has no idea how much the suit cost him.
"You know, this would be a good time to ask for my number," Kurt grins, and Blaine could hit himself.
"Umm, do you think… Is there a chance… Would you mind…"
"Look at the receipt," Kurt leans over the counter, one hand held next to his mouth, to stage whisper.
He gets out the papers he shoved into his pockets, and among the long, folded receipt, he finds a business card. Kurt E. Hummel, Slushie Designs.
And then Blaine remembers an article in Vogue from last year, about one of their own part time employers, who would be graduating from Parsons, but already got his designs acknowledged and showcased on a few New York runways. Blaine took the story to his heart, when he learned that the designer had been bullied in high school for being gay, and how slushies had been a part of the torment. But in New York he found a new life and a new beginning, and he'd turned his background into bright, colourful and bold designs.
"Oh shit," Blaine gulps. "You're Kurt Hummel."
"I thought we had already established that?" he smiles confused.
"You are the Kurt Hummel."
"And you must be the Blaine Anderson from NYADA," Kurt rolls his eyes, and at Blaine's confused expression he continues. "My friend is Rachel Berry?"
Blaine nods, because that explains everything.
"Promise you'll call. Otherwise I'll have to sic Rachel back to her roots, to get your number for me," he winks. "And nobody wants that, really."
Blaine nods dumbly, and tucks the card carefully in his other pocket.
"I'll call," he promises shakily. "Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow," Kurt singsongs, and if this was some kind of musical, they would probably burst into the Annie-song, and then maybe fade into a Sound of Music-song.
Blaine walks backwards out of the store, and waves at him with a huge grin, made even bigger by how Kurt waves back.