Kurt stirred against the sheets, and buried his face into the pillow. He inhaled the unfamiliar scent there. That was strange…he had changed detergent brands last week because the new one had been half off. It was strange that his bed linens were just starting to smell different now. It was a good different though, a nice musky smell. In fact, they smelled a bit lived in…now that was weird, for a new detergent.

With a start, Kurt realized that it wasn't a new detergent at all. He opened his eyes slowly to see the room he was in. With a dreaded, sinking feeling and an unholy twang in his head, he realized that there was a warm body pressed up against him. Oh no…what had he done?

The other body was pressed flush against his own, a bare chest – male, thank God – pushed against his back. Kurt tried not to breathe too hard as he slowly turned around to gain visual access to the man's face. Seeing who lay there, everything came flooding back.

The nightclub.

Dancing.

The cab ride.

The shower.

It all flooded into Kurt's mind, only a few detailed bits and pieces missing. The man sleeping next to him was Blaine Anderson, the anomaly. He was in bed with Blaine Anderson. He was in Blaine Anderson's bed, and he had asked him to stay last night. Currently, Blaine was snoring lightly, his face smashed onto the pillow under his head. It was the silliest thing Kurt had ever seen in his life, but it made him smile nonetheless.

Kurt tried to relax. Blaine wasn't awake yet, and he wasn't about to get up and go wandering about his apartment, or leave, for that matter. In addition, his head was starting to pound.

Blaine really was beautiful, Kurt realized without much surprise. His curly hair looked exceptionally fluffy, though Kurt didn't dare to try and touch it, and his eyelashes were so long that they almost brushed off of his cheekbone. His face was smooth with the peace that only sleep could bring. In the two instances Kurt had met him, Blaine had never looked that vulnerable or at ease. Kurt found that he like the peaceful, sleeping version of Blaine.

The thought that he was almost at ease in the bed of a man he had only met a few times and knew virtually nothing about did worry Kurt a little, but he brushed it away. He could think about that later. For now, he moved himself a little bit closer to the sleeping man, and closed his eyes once more.

When Kurt had woken up the first time, it had been to morning's first light. When he opened his eyes for the second time, the clock by the bedside read ten o'clock, his head hurt considerably less, and he was alone in Blaine's large bed. Kurt's heart gave an unsteady flip in his chest. That meant that Blaine was somewhere in the house, awake and probably waiting for him to wake up.

Trying to quell his irrational nervousness, Kurt slipped out from under Blaine's covers and tried to pull them up as neatly as he could. Hoping Blaine wouldn't mind, he opened a drawer and looked for a t-shirt to put over his bare chest. In spite of the fact that Blaine had probably seen a lot more of Kurt than he'd wanted to last night, the dancer still felt uncomfortable walking around a stranger's house half-undressed, which was ironic, considering what he did for a living.

He walked into the bathroom and quietly shut the door behind him. As soon as he peered into the mirror, Kurt gaped at his reflection in horror. Vaguely, he remembered some ordeal about glitter last night. Obviously, it hadn't been remedied. He tried to scrub the abominable stuff off of his face to only a medium amount of success. "I am going to kill David when I get a hold of him," Kurt muttered to himself, giving up on the remaining glitter and starting to rake his hands through his hair to put it in some degree of order before he saw Blaine.

Finally reaching a point where he was satisfied, Kurt left the bathroom. A delicious smell was filling the apartment, and Kurt followed it to what he assumed would be the kitchen. It was a fairly small place, so he didn't have to go too terribly far. The kitchen and living space were separated by a bar, where Blaine was sitting. He had a pair of glasses pushed up on his nose and was examining a newspaper – Kurt was amused when he noticed that it was two days old.

The other man didn't notice him until Kurt cleared his throat lightly. "Oh!" Blaine exclaimed, setting down his paper hurriedly. He clamored to a standing position and almost fell over his feet in his haste to approach Kurt. "Hi! I mean, you're awake. I've been waiting. Well, I haven't been waiting, but I've been…uh." Blaine flushed to the roots of his ebony hair and Kurt didn't bother to hide his smile.

Blaine's eyes drifted down to Kurt's torso, where his own shirt sat. "I hope you don't mind," Kurt said, suddenly self-conscious. "I wasn't sure where my things were."

"Over there," Blaine said, moving to the kitchen counter. He nodded toward a coffee table where Kurt's clothes sat, folded. "They still smell like booze and perfume, but I Febreze'd them, so they're a little better now."

"You…sprayed Febreze on my things?" The corner of Kurt's mouth twitched upward in an amused smile. His eyes drifted to where Blaine was piling things on a plate. "You made breakfast, too? How much do I have to pay for this?"

Blaine blushed again. "It's on the house," he murmured. "Omelette or French toast?"

"Both," Kurt said, leaning his elbows on the counter.

Blaine turned toward him and smiled. "Both it is." He plated both foodstuffs and poured two glasses of orange juice, setting Kurt a place next to him at the bar.

"About last night," Kurt started.

"Ah," Blaine interrupted quickly with a shake of his head. "We really don't have to talk about that."

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry," Kurt continued. He wasn't sure why Blaine looked uncomfortable when he was the one who had embarrassed himself so magnificently. Maybe he was simply embarrassed for Kurt's sake. "I didn't…I mean, I remember most of what happened, but we didn't…did we?"

"What? No. No!" Blaine waved his hands around in front of him, the hue of his cheeks getting redder by the minute. "I mean not that you aren't…but no, we didn't."

"Okay," Kurt said, turning back to his plate and taking a bite of French toast. "I know that everyone says this, but I never do these kinds of things. Did I embarrass myself very badly?"

Blaine chuckled. "Probably, but think of it this way: you'll never see any of those people again, so what does it matter?"

"I'll see you again."

Blaine's laughter faded and he observed Kurt warily, as if he might yell that he was joking at any moment. "Will you?"

Kurt shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "I said that we'd meet again, didn't I? And we did, albeit in a weird circumstance. Don't you believe in fate?"

"No." That had not been the answer Kurt was expecting, and the shock on his face showed it. "I mean…maybe. I believe…man, I have no idea."

"Maybe fate can only carry you so far," Kurt said. "You have to carry yourself the rest of the way."

"That sounds plausible," Blaine replied with a small smile. "So…um…what exactly do you remember?"

Kurt thought about the question before answering. "I remember my friend leaving and telling me that I'd better stay or else I'd regret it when I'm forty and friendless." Blaine chuckled. "I remember thinking it was exceptionally funny that women were hitting on me. I remember you and your…um, friend, showing up out of nowhere and carting me off. Then you brought me here and…um…you know, some other stuff." Now it was Kurt's turn to flush and look away. "So thank you, for not just leaving me there for goodness knows what to happen."

"You hardly seem like you need more to happen to you," Blaine said. Kurt looked at him curiously. "I mean…doesn't it take one person hiding secrets to recognize another?"

Kurt thought that was awfully presumptuous of the other man, but it happened to be true. Maybe he was right. They settled into an awkward silence, in which Kurt wasn't quite sure of what to say. He was in another man's apartment, in his clothes, eating his food. He felt obligated to keep up the conversation somehow. The most obvious place to start would be the very beginning.

"I feel like we're going backwards," Kurt teased with a smile. "You've come to my rescue twice now, and yet I hardly know anything about you beyond your name. So? Who are you, Blaine Anderson?"

Blaine suddenly looked awkward. "I'm no one."

"Oh, now that isn't true," Kurt said, reaching out to nudge Blaine's barstool and make him sway gently. "Come on."

"Come on," Kurt urged him. Blaine was trying not to stare too long at Kurt's face, because dear Lord he was attractive. Now that it was the morning and he was well-rested, Blaine found him even more so. Maybe it had something to do with the way the morning light played off of Kurt's pale features.

When he'd woken up that morning, Blaine realized that sometime during the night, his arms had wound their way around Kurt's body, and the other boy's had grabbed onto his hands, securing their embrace. He was infinitely glad that he'd woken up before Kurt, for several reasons. First of all, the boner he'd woken up with was more than obvious, and second…well, there wasn't much of a second.

Now Kurt wanted to know things about him. If Blaine didn't know better, he would say that this was almost a date. It was like a strange morning after date, in spite of the fact that nothing had even happened the night before. "Okay," he said slowly. "I grew up in Ohio." He noticed a shift in Kurt's facial expression, but the other man didn't speak. "I transferred to a private high school after…some things happened at my public school."

"Some things," Kurt repeated quietly.

"You know," Blaine said, looking into Kurt's sapphire eyes. "Or maybe you don't. Being a gay teen in Ohio wasn't the easiest thing in the world."

"…I can imagine."

"So, hmm, let's see…I transferred and things were better, at school at least. Then when I graduated, I moved here on my own."

"No college?" Kurt asked, sipping his orange juice.

"It's a long story," Blaine said distantly. He was glad that Kurt didn't press the matter.

"You moved here because of your music, then?"

"More or less," Blaine said with a wry grin. "I'm still trying to figure out if it's working."

"Well, when was the last time you wrote something?" Kurt asked excitedly.

"Oh…not too long ago," Blaine said, picking at his eggs. He didn't know why, but suddenly he was telling Kurt everything. "I hadn't had a song idea in ages, but suddenly, after you left the Laundromat, one just popped into my head."

"Let's hear it, then!" Kurt begged.

Blaine's eyes skittered over to where his guitars laid against the wall. "Oh, you really don't want to hear it. It's rough and uh…not completely finished." Kurt stuck out his bottom lip in a pout, and Blaine knew that the battle was lost. "Oh fine," he conceded. He blushed pre-emptively at what he was going to say next. "I guess I sort of wrote this for you. Don't laugh, okay?"

Kurt smiled. "I would never."

Nervously, Blaine began to pick at the strings. The tune soon flowed more naturally, coming from his fingers like they were second nature.

Say, wasn't that a funny day?

Gee, you had a funny way – a way about you

A kind of glow of something new

Sure, I'll admit that I'm the same

Another sucker for a game kids like to play

And the rules they like to use

Blaine's heart thudded in his chest as he approached the refrain. Technically, it was all true, but thinking it and writing it down versus actually singing it to Kurt were two entirely different things. Oh, why had he ever agreed to do this? He should have just said he didn't have any new material. But it was too late now, and he was far too nervous to try to make something else up on the fly.

Don't you want the way I feel?

Don't you want the way I feel?

Don't you want the way I feel for you?

Kurt was smiling. He didn't look freaked out by the lyrics at all. In fact, he kind of looked like he was enjoying them. Confidence slightly renewed, Blaine continued.

The sun, telling me the night is done

Well, I refuse to let it stop our fun

Close your eyes, we'll make it dark again

And kiss…there's a thought, so how about this?

Let's pretend that both our lips are made of candy

After all, we need sweets every now and then

Don't you want the way I feel?

Don't you want the way I feel?

Don't you want the way I feel for you?

Kurt was still smiling; that was a good sign. Blaine had never written anything for anyone before; this was an entirely new experience. Usually, his songs had to do with his real world problems. He'd never written anything about hopeful love. It felt different to sing, but not completely unwelcome. He was enjoying the way that Kurt was beaming at him, like for that brief moment he'd managed to capture the brilliance of the sun in a few short verses.

Here we are, two strangers in a very different place

Who knows what could happen to us next?

Here we are with nothing but this little spark

It's too cold outside to lay this fire to rest

Go? How so very apropos

A goodbye just as soon as I said 'hello'

Well alright, I'll see you later

It's true: just a fantasy for two

But what's the difference if it all could have been true?

I guess this is better

Blaine had been alternating between glancing down at his guitar, closing his eyes, and looking generally every place but in Kurt's eyes. Not able to keep it up, he broke the trend. Kurt was smiling his small, mysterious smile, his feet kicking back and forth in the air above the ground on the stool. His shoulders were moving in time with the rhythm and it didn't take Blaine more than a second to see he had an ear for the beat. What's more, his eyes never left Blaine's face.

But don't you want the way I feel?

Don't you want the way I feel?

Don't you want the way I feel for you?

Oh, don't you want the way I feel?

Don't you want the way I feel?

Don't you want the way I feel for you?

Don't you want the way…that I feel for you?

When Blaine stopped playing, his nervousness set back in. Kurt's small smile grew into a bona fide grin, and he clapped enthusiastically. "God, you're a beautiful singer," he said. "I – I mean…you sing beautifully!" He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "You wrote that for me?"

Realizing that he might have over done it, Blaine looked away and set down his guitar gingerly. "It's just a song."

"No one's ever done anything like that for me before," Kurt told him. "It was…beautiful." He paused pensively. "So…was it true?"

Blaine bit his lip. "Well, you know, when inspiration hits you can't really help what you write." Under Kurt's searching gaze, Blaine found all of his excuses crumbling to nothing. "Uh, yeah…yes, it is true."

If possible, Kurt's smile got even wider, as if he were extremely pleased with himself for some reason. "I see," he said quietly. "And, hypothetically, if I felt the same way…why should anything happen? You've already professed yourself a runner."

"You said yourself that I just needed to find someone I didn't want to run from," Blaine pushed, feeling daring. He walked back toward the counter slowly.

"Do you plan on it?" Kurt asked, peering at Blaine from under his lashes. "Running I mean?"

"This is my apartment, I don't plan on going anywhere," Blaine replied coyly. Kurt's eyebrow rose. "Let's see…you're in my clothes, in my apartment, and I'm feeding you…"

"Which means," Kurt interrupted, standing up abruptly. Blaine had steadily approached him, so upon Kurt's movement, their faces were close together. "Next time it's my turn."

"Next time?" Blaine asked breathlessly. He didn't know what crazy external power was driving him, but it was certainly unlike anything else that had ever ruled his actions before. Kurt was staring down at him with those twinkling blue eyes and mischievous wide grin; Blaine thought that he probably would have promised the other boy anything in that moment, which was a frightening prospect. "Like tonight?"

"Maybe."

"At eight?"

Kurt's smile faded, and his flush paled. "Uh…better make it six thirty."

Reality hit Blaine like a ton of bricks. "Oh! You're...I mean, of course, you're working." Kurt's lips pursed together tightly, like he didn't want to admit to it.

"Six thirty is perfect," Blaine said, trying to quickly get past the awkward moment. "No time is too early to begin acclimatizing for meal times when we're in retirement homes."

His teasing joke worked and Kurt cracked a smile. "Pick me up?" he asked, looking at Blaine with wide, sparkling eyes.

"Oh, God, yes. I mean sure!" Color filled Blaine's cheeks again. He was sure that pretty soon, they would stay that hue forever. "Just write down your address." He beamed at the back of Kurt's head as the other man wrote down his address and number on the pad of paper Blaine pushed toward him.

"I better get going," Kurt said. Blaine was pleased to hear that he sounded a bit rueful, as if he didn't actually want to leave. "Do you mind?" He touched the hem of the shirt he was wearing. "I'll bring them back."

"Oh, not at all!" Blaine was a bit smug that Kurt would be going home in his clothes. "Take them – no hurry."

"Thank you." Kurt grabbed his own clothes and tucked them under his arm. He turned toward Blaine before he left. "And thank you for…everything."

"My pleasure," Blaine said honestly. He walked with Kurt toward the door and held it open for him. "I'll see you tonight, six-thirty."

"Six-thirty," Kurt repeated with a nod, stopping in the doorway. Suddenly compelled, he moved forward and kissed Blaine's cheek lightly, closer to his lips than anything else. From there, he moved his lips toward Blaine's ear. "I'll see you then, mon oiseau chanteur."

Kurt's wide smile stayed on his face as he pulled back, waved his fingers in farewell, and moved down the hall. He heard the door shut behind him and only then did he let himself put a little jump in his step. His smile grew from coy to goofy the more he thought about what had happened. Even the fact that he was about to travel across New York City in nothing but pajamas that were too short for him didn't bother Kurt in the least.

"You there." A voice from behind Kurt made him jump. He swirled around to face a greying old man, who stood in the hall against a closed door. Kurt sincerely hoped he hadn't been there when he had walked past, because he certainly hadn't noticed him. "Tinkerbelle."

"Um…me?" Kurt asked incredulously.

"Yes, you!" The old man gestured for Kurt to come closer. Hesitantly, he obliged. "You just came out of Blaine Anderson's apartment."

"Yes…"

"Blaine Anderson is a nice boy."

Kurt nodded his head warily. "He's nice, yes."

"Last night you were heavily intoxicated."

"Oh," Kurt said slowly, realization and recognition dawning on him. "Oh! Yes, I saw you last night. Your name is…oh shoot, what was it? Mr. Hillard!"

Mr. Hillard smiled. "What's your name then, Tinkerbelle?"

"Kurt Hummel."

"Well, Tinkerbelle, are you planning on coming back here? Blaine Anderson is a nice boy."

"He's…nice, yes," Kurt repeated, beginning to think that Mr. Hillard wasn't the sanest of neighbors. "I – I don't know if I'll be coming back. I hope so." Kurt blushed as he revealed the information.

Mr. Hillard was quiet for a few moments. Kurt was about to walk away when he spoke again. "Blaine Anderson has had too many heartbreaking relationships. He had a good heart…but he's fragile. Don't do it to him again, Tinkerbelle. Don't break Blaine Anderson's heart."

Kurt was shocked into momentary silence. "I won't," he said finally. "Don't worry, Mr. Hillard, I don't ever plan on breaking his heart."

Mr. Hillard nodded benignly and shuffled back into his room, leaving a baffled Kurt in his wake.

Blaine nodded dumbly as Kurt pulled away from him and offered up a wide smile. "I'll see you," he said after Kurt's retreating back. He gaped after him for only a few moments before shutting his door and settling for watching him walk away through the peephole, which didn't seem quite as creepy as staring after his back.

"Wow," Blaine whispered, turning toward his apartment and leaning against the door to catch his breath.

"Wow." He walked toward the counter where Kurt had written his information and stared at the number there.

"Wow!" Happiness bubbling inside of him, Blaine ran to his bedroom, stuffed his face into the pillows of his bed, and let out his pent up excitement in a short scream and a brief flailing of his limbs. With that out of his system, the man flipped over on his side to look at the faint dent that Kurt's sleeping form had left in his mattress. His eyes traveled up to the pillow, where specks of glitter held on. That had been just what he was afraid of last night, but right now he couldn't be happier about their presence. He buried his nose into the bed and inhaled deeply. Along with the musky cologne smell that usually accompanied his clothes and linens, there was a crisp, fresh smell that could only be Kurt.

Smiling wider than he had in ages, Blaine failed to realize that for the first time in many years, he really and truly didn't feel alone. For those few brief moments, Kurt had done what he'd wanted someone to do for ages: he'd made everything else go away.

The goofy smile on Kurt's face stayed there all the way to his apartment, where it fell suddenly from his face when he saw who was waiting for him. "Oh great," Kurt whispered to himself as Dave saw him and began waving frantically, as if Kurt could somehow avoid him even though he sat right outside his door. "David," he said when he approached the other man. He stuck his key in the lock and opened the door to his apartment.

"Kurt!" Dave looked at him wonderingly. "What in God's name are you wearing? Oh my…are those pajamas?" A grin spread across his face. "Those aren't even yours!" He grabbed Kurt by the shoulder gleefully and gave him a good shake of disbelief. "Whose are they, Kurt? Whose belongs to those pajamas? I mean – well, you know. Ah! You're holding your clothes. Those are the clothes you wore last night. This is totally your first walk of shame."

"It isn't a walk of shame," Kurt muttered, shrugging Dave's hands off of him.

"I called you last night to ask if you'd gotten home alright," Dave continued. "Then again this morning, but it doesn't look like you needed help at all!" He winked at the other man.

"David," Kurt whined. "Didn't I say last night that we most certainly are not middle school girls? We aren't doing this."

"Oh come on," Dave coerced. "You don't have to give all the sexy details, just give me the spark notes version!"

"Fine," Kurt said, crossing his arms. "I saw an acquaintance at the club. I was drunk so he took me back to his apartment so I wouldn't get in trouble. End of story. Happy?"

David's face fell. "That's it?" He sighed. "Oh well, at least you didn't run away the moment I left, like I was afraid you'd do. What are you doing the rest of the day anyway? I was thinking that we could catch a movie before going in to The Adonis. I've been dying to see…Kurt? What is it?"

Kurt had cleared his throat and was looking around shiftily. "Tonight isn't actually the best. Can we reschedule?"

Dave's eyebrows rose higher than Kurt thought was possible. "Tonight isn't the best? But every night is the best night for you. Does this mean…you have plans?"

"Don't act so disbelieving," Kurt said defensively. He began to pace around his apartment and randomly tinker with anything tinker-able. "I'm a very eligible gay bachelor, I'll have you know."

"Oh, I know that," Dave said. "But I didn't think you did." Kurt didn't grace him with a reply. "So, who are you going out with?" Kurt stayed silent. "Oh don't tell me…is it the guy whose pajamas you're wearing?" Kurt's silence was answer enough. "Kurt! When you said 'acquaintance', I didn't think you meant 'hot, gay, single man'."

"Well then," Kurt said, clearing his throat. In spite of his bland tone, his silly smile crept onto his face again.

Dave saw his change of expression, his own face grew excited. "Okay, sit down right this second. You're going to tell me everything about him."

Caving in to his inner preteen, Kurt almost skipped over to where Dave sat on his couch. "Alright fine, but just this once!" His expression grew far away as he tried to pick a place to start. He finally resolved that the beginning would be best. "Dave," Kurt warned. "Right now, you aren't my manager, okay? Please, please leave that persona behind, just for a moment, and be nothing more or less than my friend."

Dave nodded dismissively but Kurt knew he didn't have any idea about what Kurt was going to reveal. "His name is Blaine Anderson. He's just the sweetest, strangest, most awkward man ever. And…he was the one who tackled that blonde off of me, at The Adonis. You remember."

David's floored expression told Kurt that yes, he most certainly did remember. "As your manager," Dave started, making Kurt grimace, "I'd say that it is one hundred and twenty percent against the rules to bring your work into intimate levels. But…as that friend you requested, I have to say that might be the most adorable thing I have ever heard in my life."

Kurt smiled with relief. "Right, I'm going out on a date with the guy who tackled an attacker off of me while I danced half-naked at the strip club where I work. That's so romantic." He shoved Dave playfully, who rolled his eyes and took the mockery. "But in all honesty, Dave, he's just so…I don't even have words to describe him."

Dave smiled at Kurt widely. "Oh my God, look at you. You already have it bad, my friend."

"I do not have it bad," Kurt protested, though his hot cheeks and goofy smile cancelled out that claim.

"Can I stay here and see him? Please? Just one look."

"Absolutely not."

"He won't even see me, I promise."

"Dave, absolutely not, I don't want to say it again."

"Kurt, I can fire you, you know."

Kurt's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't dare."

Dave smiled angelically. "Try me."

At six o'clock that night, Dave was still at Kurt's house, and Kurt himself was busy freaking out. "I don't want to dress too fancy, but I don't want to look like a total slob either."

Dave rolled his eyes. "You never look like a slob. Anyway, I thought you didn't believe in overdressed."

Kurt had to physically restrain himself from knotting his hands in his perfect hair. "Every public area is a runway, but if I look fabulously chic and he looks casual, it will offset our whole aesthetic, which will ruin everything. I haven't been on a real date in…I don't even know how long it's been."

"Too long," Dave said as he flipped through Kurt's Cosmo magazine. "That must be why you're so uptight."

Kurt stuck his head around the corner. "I am not uptight, David Karofsky."

"Okay, you aren't uptight," Dave said benignly, eyes never leaving the magazine.

"I mean it, I'm not. Why would you say that? What would even make you think that?"

"I said you're not uptight, Kurt. You're not panicked or frantic or completely hysterical, either."

Kurt finally emerged, done up in a colorful ensemble complete with a bowtie. "Well you certainly look…Kurt. Good luck getting him into your pants though, because I don't think you'll be able to take them off."

Kurt gasped. "These jeans are fabulous, David, and you're just jealous that you can't pull them off." He ran a hand along his form-fitting – extremely form-fitting white jeans self-consciously.

"Extremely jealous. What happened to no white after Labor Day?"

Kurt scoffed. "Oh, please. That's just an excuse made up by people who –" Kurt's eyes narrowed. "You're making fun of me. That's it, I'm changing."

"No, no, Kurt, don't change," Dave said, springing up and planning a hand on Kurt's arm. "I'm your best friend; it's my job to tease you. Honestly, I'm just glad that you're so involved in this night. I think it's good for you."

Kurt looked away uncomfortably. "Because before this I was depressed and self-pitying?" he asked scornfully.

"Yep," Dave said simply, flopping back on the couch.

Kurt was about to retort when the doorbell rang, sending him spiraling into panic. "Oh my God, that's him. It's only six-twenty! He isn't supposed to be here yet, what happened to fashionably late? I'm not ready. I'm not ready. Oh, but he's waiting out there!"

As he scampered around, grabbing his jacket, keys, phone, and other things he would need, Dave hurried to the door to look through the peephole. "Aw, look at him!" Dave exclaimed too loudly for Kurt's comfort. "How sweet! Kurt, he's wearing a bowtie, too! Aw, you guys will totally match." He tried to pinch Kurt's cheeks as the other man came to push him away. "Can I get a picture? I want to put it on the fridge."

"David," Kurt whispered heatedly as he scuffled with his friend. "Go somewhere else! You're ruining my hair. We are no longer friends!" Suddenly, Dave stopped struggling and beamed at him. Kurt surveyed his friend nervously. Butterflies were running rampant in his stomach, making him think that they'd actually fled the premises and had been replaced by something with a wingspan of at least five feet. "In all honesty though…how do I look?"

"Perfect," Dave said, tugging lightly on Kurt's collar to straighten it out. "Get out of here, handsome, before I jump you and force you to cancel your evening." He shoved Kurt lightly as the dancer flushed at Dave's compliment and turned around toward the door.

"Hi Blaine," he said breathlessly as he opened the door.

"Hi!" Blaine was, indeed, wearing a bowtie, along with a black, short sleeved button up. Kurt couldn't help but noticed that it hugged his defined chest in a distractingly snug manner. All in all, he very much approved. "Kurt…you look…uh." Blaine stared.

Kurt's mouth turned up in a giggle which sounded both alien and yet extremely welcome at the same time. "You look 'uh' too, Blaine. Very 'uh'. Do you want anything before we go?"

"N-no, I'm good," said Blaine, seeming to recover from his brief stint with speechlessness. He flashed Kurt a brilliant smile that made Kurt want nothing more than to pause time and spend eternity deciding whether to look at his glittering amber eyes or flawless smile. "I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise?" Kurt asked, shutting his door, and therefore Dave, out of their conversation – though he was sure the bigger man was already watching through the peep hole.

"Mhmm," Blaine said with a self-satisfied nod. "Come on!" Heart still fluttering in his chest, Kurt followed Blaine out of the apartment and into the snowy street.

A/N: Of course, the song "Don't You" is courtesy of our own lovely Darren Criss :) Rest assured, I'm not the type that blurs Blaine and Darren together, but I didn't want to take any song by another artist and rob them of due credit. Besides, I thought "Don't You" fit nicely!

Also, mon oiseau chanteur is (supposedly) French for songbird :) I thought it was cute, and since I don't actually speak French, I enlisted the help of my dear friend Google Translate. If any French speakers out there know of a better way to say 'songbird', let me know!

Thanks, as always, for reading!