I am stunned beyond comprehension.

What the hell is this asshole doing here? He cannot possibly be interested in the arts. People in the arts are normally humble and artistic. He isn't- he's materialistic, he's snobby.

"This class will count half your grade for your final semester. It might boost you, or it might break you. That- determines on how much you pay attention in my lecture. Bare in mind that I have zero tolerance for late coming and if you are not here by the given time, you are not allowed in. Purchase your textbooks from me before I leave here today. Today will be an introduction to ballet art. Notepads out, and here we go," the asshole says with such ease.

"Oh god Kurt he's gorgeous," Ginger is practically on the edge of her seat, her pupils turned to heart shapes as she stared at mister asshole.

"Stop it Ginger-"

"How can I? Look at him! Tall, good physique, his neck, his jawline, those lips that I want all over me, that tight, tight ass, his eyes, that hair-"

"You're not gonna touch yourself, are you?"

"I might."

I want to barf. Ginger doesn't normally checks out guys so when she does, he's probably a Greek god. I see none of that. I see a snobby asshole, but I can't let my displeasure of this man derail my chances of passing. I take my notepad out while everyone takes their laptops out and begin scribbling everything he says and shows.

Class is over soon enough, and I dread having to go up front and buy my textbook from him. I wonder if I can't get Ginger to buy it for me while I wait.

"Hey Ginger-"

When I turn to my left she's already gone. I look up front and she's in the crowd of girls who have already surrounded Mister Parker. It's revolting how they're flaunting themselves at him- sluts.

"Excuse me!" I practically have to wrestle my way to the front. Finally I do, with having to step on a certain bitch's foot. I hand him a thirty. He passes me the textbook but when he looks at me, he frowns, and I gulp.

"You," he says, with a deafening amusement I do not understand. I grab the book from his hands and dash out the lecture hall so fast I probably could've won an Olympic

I contemplate waiting for Ginger but figure, screw her. I run out of school, thankful I have no more work to go to and call Blaine.

"Hey," he says through the phone.

"It's him! That guy! He's my lecturer!" I say in horror.

"Who is?"

"That guy I threw coffee at yesterday. He's my lecturer for my Ballet History class!"

"Sounds like a snooze of a class."

"Blaine! This is serious!"

"Alright, alright. Keep your panties on," Blaine laughs. "Does he recognize you?"

"Yes! I went to get my textbook from him and he dramatically said 'You' when he looks at me! What do I do!"

"Relax, Kurt," Blaine tries. "Look, what can he possibly do? He's your teacher and it was just coffee. I doubt a man's gonna hold a long grudge."

"Well, for starters," I say. "He can fail me because he hates me! If I fail this class then going to NYADA would have been a flopping waste of time!"

"He can't fail you because he hates you, come on. There's a law against that. Just- okay if you're really worried, go up to him tomorrow and apologize."

"I have to apologize?" I say in disbelief. No way am I going to apologize to an asshole who accuses me of being in the wrong when I clearly was not.

"I know he doesn't deserve it," Blaine says, reading my mind. "But if you're that afraid he might fail you because he hates you, then do it for closure. A fresh start if you will."

"You're right. A fresh start sounds good."

"Yup. Or you could bake him cookies or be the teachers pet- oh god that sounds hot. Be the teacher's naughty, naughty pet-"

"Fuck you," I scold, but somehow I feel a twitch at my crotch at the thought.

"Anyway, I'm glad you called. I have to ask you something."

"If it involves going to a sleezy gay bar I'm hanging up-"

"No it's doesn't," Blaine says quickly. "My mum's having this dinner party to celebrate the success of her new fashion line. She said I could invite some people over, so would you accompany me?"

"Urg- the last thing I wanna do is attend a dinner party," I groan because truthfully I was looking forward to not having to serve coffee to assholes and pampered fifteen year olds.

"Please! It's all going to be my mum and dad's colleagues and I'll die of boredom if I don't have you around. You know I can't do dinner parties sober and without you. You don't want me to die, do you?"

I laugh at his exaggeration. He always knows how to make me laugh. "Alright fine," I surrender.

"Great. I'll have Marcus pick you up from your apartment."

"I can take a cab, Blaine."

"No, come to my place and we'll have pre-cocktails before we go! Despite you, I can't go sober."

"You're exhausting. But okay."

"Great. And don't fret about your stupid teacher. If he gives you a hard time just give his hard some time-"

"Done. Bye."

--------

Blaine's driver, Marcus, takes me to Blaine's lavish building- Haven. The doorman pulls the door open for me and smiles pleasantly as I enter.

Everything just feels like diamonds around this part of town.

"Hey Kurt, how's it going?" Mister Thompson greets. He's an elder black man white a white buzz cut. He works behind the reception counter.

"Hi Mister Thompson. I'm fine. How are you? How are the kids?"

"I'm great. My eldest is going to college soon. Really proud of him."

"I'm glad," I smile politely. I know he's a single parent with four children. He reminds me a lot of my own father, Burt.

"I'll just tell Blaine you're here."

"Great, thank you. It's nice to see you again."

"As well," he smiles, his single golden tooth showing which gives me a huge grin.

The elevator takes me to Blaine's baby Penny. She's huge- two levels, one big great room with white couches and a turquoise carpet that I helped pick out- apparently from Paris. The dining area holds an orange fluorescent lamp with a great big mahogany dining table.

It's surrounded with huge glass windows with a breath taking view of New York City. I can practically trace the Empire State if I fog the glass up. It smells of lavender all the time- Blaine's favorite air freshener.

"Hello mister Hummel," Blaine's helper greets me. She's a middle aged woman, sweet as a daisy and always smells of cookies.

"Hi Glanda. Nice to see you," I greet her.

"As I you, mister Hummel. Mister Anderson is upstairs in his room. May I bring you anything?"

"No thank you. I'll just go up to see Blaine."

"Very well," she says. "Do tell me if you need anything." I nod diligently as she makes her exit.

The second level is just as ridiculously lavish as the first level. It's pure white, every single furniture. It has three rooms. The master being Blaine's room.

"Are you here?" I ask as I enter Blaine's room. It personifies him. Big, frivolous, extremely exaggerative. A huge bed centers the room, covered with a handmade quilt from the outskirts of Rome.

"In here," he shouts from his walk-in closet, yes because he's that ridiculously rich.

"I'm told we would have cocktails."

"We will, sweet child. Don't you clench that little ass," he says as he emerges out of his closet wearing a slick tuxedo. A white dress shirt buttoned to his neck, a well tailored jacket with three buttons and pants that coil around his legs.

"How do I look?" he ask insecurely, doing a spin for me.

"Twice your age."

"That's not good, is it?"

"Depends on how you see it."

"Growing old is bad in my perception."

"Growing old, for men, means being sexier.

"- to gold digging whores."

"Depends on how you see it, but you look fine."

"Great," he says, because he cherishes my fashion opinions. That's one of the many reason why I love him.

"Is that what you're wearing?" he ask, pointing at my navy jacket with gold buttons, matching pants, black leather shoes and a black dress shirt.

"It's what I came here with, right?"

"It looks good, but I think I have a dress shirt that'll go better with your ensemble. Wait here," he enters his closet once more and emerges with a black dress shirt with tiny studs on it's collar. The stitches are a dull gold.

"Here, I think this suits best. I've never worn it before though. I don't think I can pull it off- you know what, can you take it? I doubt I'll ever wear it."

He hands me the shirt and I study it carefully, before looking up and staring at him. "The tag's still on."

"Yeah. I've never worn it before."

"It's my size."

He pauses for a heartbeat at his hand moisturizing. "I think I bought it a size too big-"

"Blaine," I stop him. "This is the exact shirt I told you I wanted to get when I followed you shopping at the Paul Jobskins boutique."

Paul Jobskins is ridiculously high end and all their clothing prices ranges from a hundred to ten thousand. This particular shirt, was a thousand and five hundred.

"It is? I don't remember," he feigns. I can tell because his eyes are not meeting mine.

"Don't lie to me Blaine. I can't take this," I settle the shirt back on his bed.

"Kurt, it's just a shirt-"

"That cost more than a plane ticket to and for and to and fro to Lima!"

"Fine. You said you liked it and I was getting something there, I saw it and thought you would love it. No biggie."

"Yes biggie!" I scream. "You just helped me pay my tuition fee, my rent and now this shirt? No way, I'm not taking it."

"You won't take it?" he asks sadly.

"No," I say, standing my ground. I can't believe him, honestly.

"But you'll have to take it if- hm lets say your current shirt gets stained, right?"

"What are you taking about-" before I can comprehend what he's doing, he flicks some of his moisturizer to me and it hits exactly on the dress shirt I have on. I yelp in shock.

"Sorry," he feigns with that stupid smile. "But you can change, to that shirt."

"I can't believe you just did that!"

"I can't help that my finger slipped!"

"You're so immature I can't even deal with you." I run into the bathroom and quickly try to get the moisturizer off, but there's a huge shade of a darker black where the moisturizer hits.

"Don't bother. I spilled moisturizer on my shirt the other day there's still that same stain on it. Sorry," he says.

"I can't go then-"

"Oh yes you can. Hence, the Paul Jobskins shirt."

"You're such an asshole," I walk pass him and reluctantly take the shirt. Slipping out of my jacket and my now-moisturized-shirt I feel Blaine staring at me in complete satisfaction.

"You're an asshole by the way," I say.

"I'll take that," he smiles.

The Paul Jobskins shirt feels heavenly as I slip into it. The material is silky soft only it's not silk. It fits me perfectly, but I feel guilty as I wear this. I slip my jacket back on and sit on his bed, not wanting to look at him.

"You look great," he says.

"Fuck off," I say in exasperation. "I can't believe you actually did that."

"Well believe it baby," he says. "Glanda! We'll have those cocktails now!" Blaine screams.

A muffled response comes from the lower level just as Blaine finishes off with gelling his hair back. I hate when he does that, because he looks too pretentious. I stand and go over to him.

I run my fingers into his hair and scrunch it up slightly so his unruly curls are still viable, only they're tamer. "Now you look great."

"So do you. And that shirt looks mighty fine on you."

"Fuck off," I say, though I can't hide my smile.

----------

Mr and Mrs Anderson live on the Upper East Side, like Blaine only they live in a town house. Crazy huge with a chandelier in the foyer. The floor is marble and there are glass decorative everywhere. The place is already packed with snobbish rich people, clinging champagne glasses to each other probably to congratulate each other for being masters of the world.

"Blaine honey! How are you!"

Mrs Anderson hums as she runs to Blaine. She's your average stuck up white woman. Her brunette hair pulled into a bun, Cartier diamonds hanging on her neck and ears, Loubuitons making echoes in the house.

"Hi mum. I'm fine," Blaine says as his mother kisses his cheeks.

"Kurt! How are you darling!" She greets me, though I can sense her disapproval. She never has been my number one fan.

"Great, Mrs Anderson. How are you? Your new line is fabulous," I say, because I went through the liberty to look at it online.

"Thank you dear," Her tone is so clipped. "Blaine, I want to introduce you to someone later."

"Who this time, mum?" Blaine says tiredly.

"You'll know soon enough darling," she kisses him once more and runs off to mingle with her money minded clan.

"So do you think it's the daughter of Mister Patrick or Mister Harrots?"

"Who knows," Blaine sighs.

Mrs Anderson, though she accepted Blaine's sexuality, has always thought she could maybe change him. She always tries introducing him to girls of his age at events like this but Blaine will always end the night with banging one of the waiters.

"It's fine. I'll save you when that happens, okay?"

"Thank you, now lets get drunk past our years."

I laugh and follow him to the open bar- that's really the only pro of events like this I follow Blaine too. Mr Anderson, Blaine's father, always insist on having an open bar.

"I'll have a neat scotch, and he'll have a whiskey, thanks."

"Easy now. We don't want a repeat of the last dinner party."

"Who cares," Blaine smiles slyly.

The last one we had went together was the Scandinavian union dinner party where Blaine had drank to an oblivion and became a stripper for a short ten minutes. He was left with his underwear when I and five security guards pulled him out of the place.

"Oh please, everyone enjoyed my little show."

"Hah," I say sardonically.

"Blaine," Mrs Anderson approaches us with a girl who has long blond hair, her mascara a little too thick and her lips falsely red. Her dress is crazy short if she bends down, all the seniors in this joint would go into cardiac arrest.

"This is Sophia Harrots. She's graduating from NYU this year. She's been eager to meet you."

"I have been. Nice to finally meet the Blaine Anderson."

"The? Oh I highly doubt I'm that substantial."

"Mm, I'll be the judge of that."

Poor girl. She doesn't know that Blaine likes cock up his ass, in his mouth, having his cock in an ass- oh god this girl is so young.

"May I introduce, my boyfriend Kurt Hummel," I cannot supress my chuckle. He always does this.

"Oh-" the girl looks terribly embarrassed. I feel sorry for her.

"Yes, oh," Blaine smiles.

Mrs Anderson is glaring at him now, her eyes afire with rage. I try not to glance at her because I know I would shrink into a mouse if i do.

"It's- ah it's nice to meet you. I have to go," she quickly exits.

"What is wrong with you,"
Mrs Anderson smacks Blaine on his arm.

"What? Just having a little fun."

"Well stop it. This is a sophisticated party and there will be no nonsense, do you hear me?" she says to the both of us and I nod diligently. God I feel thirteen again.

She scurries away and it's my turn to smack Blaine. "Behave, please? For one dinner party at least?"

"You know you have a better chance of seeing a unicorn than me fulfilling that promise."

A waiter approaches us then. He's a young boy, probably eighteen or nineteen. He has platinum blond hair, obviously out of a bottle and he has a flirtatious smirk on his face, directed at Blaine. Oh sweet boy, don't.

"May I bring you anything?"

"You naked, is that possible?"

I smack Blaine so hard he yelps in pain. The blond waiter blushes crimson, and that's his giveaway. He'll be under Blaine by the end of tonight. He gives Blaine one last salacious wink before scurrying away.

"One night," I warn him.

He surrenders and downs his scotch. "Fine I'll behave," he mumbles his promise like an insincere calling.

"Squirm!" a man's voice calls. We both turn to it's direction and a tall well build man with ocean blue eyes approaches. His hair long and sexy as he walks.

"Hey Coop," Blaine gives his brother a half hug before parting.

"Hey Kurt," he greets me with the same gesture.

Cooper and Blaine, though brothers, aren't very tight knit because of their age gap. They are ten years apart and though they can get along, they're not as close like how Blaine and I are.

"How's life been?" he asks me.

"A roller coaster- to say the least."

"Awe I get you. Mine hasn't been peachy either. I'm working on this acclaimed suicide case right now."

"Oh, sounds exciting!" I say. I'm always fascinated by Cooper's stories because lawyers always have nail biting stories.

"How is my niece doing?" Blaine asks.

"Great. She misses her uncle Blainey. You both should come over some time," cooper suggest.

"Busy," Blaine says. I glare at him and he apologizes by rolling his eyes.

"I'd love to come visit Camilla. How old is she now?"

"She's two now and she talks- like a lot."

"Well, beats crying a lot doesn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess," Cooper smiles.

"How's your dad been? Last I saw him was when I defended him in court about that man who accused him of taking his phone when he fixed his car."

"That's like- ancient, Cooper. He's doing well. He had a cancer scare a few months ago, but it's gone now, thank god."

"He did?" Cooper said, surprised. "I wish you had told me! God, I'm glad he's okay now."

"Yeah, you should go see him sometime. Still that some old address."

Cooper had grown fond of my dad when he first met him back when me and Blaine were still in high school. Being a father himself, he admires how my father was able to work, earn a decent pay while being a single parent. He admires my father, though he isn't a single father himself.

"Cooper! Oh thank you for being here, darling," Mrs Anderson exclaims as she wraps her eldest, frankly favorite son in a hug.

"Nice to see you mum," Cooper says as he returns the hug.

"Since both my sons are here, I want a family photo-op, and I want to introduce you both to everyone! Where is Denise and my niece?"

"Camilla has the flu, so Denise opted to stay home and take care of here. She sents her best and apologizes for not being here," Cooper tells about his wife.

"Oh that's quite alright. Photo then, now," he grabs both her sons by their biceps and pulls them to where the New York Times photographer was waiting. This will be in the papers by morning, I bet.

Blaine turns to me once more and mouths a 'Sorry.' I give him my it's-okay-go-do-your-thing smile as I travel to an empty table and take a seat, sipping on my drink and watching these people dressed in their best, all with high noses and chins.

This is usually the highlight of my night every time I go to events like this with Blaine. Being able to sit here and silently judge everyone on the floor. I feel like God somehow.

"You," a voice behind startles me and I nearly spill my drink. I turn and am stunned to find the asshole I threw coffee at sitting behind me, and smiling at me with his smoldering eyes.

------

I think I lost my ability to articulate. He frowns, and smiles again. "Are you going to sit there and stare at me or?"

I gather myself quickly. "What are you doing here?" Was what I manage to say.

"Well, I'm a guest. I'm guessing you are too."

"I- plus one, actually."

"You're in my class," he says. "At NYADA."

"I am," I say. Why in the world am I nervous?

"You must be very talented then, to get into a school like that."

I must maintain my composure. No way am I going to be intimidated by this asshole, but then again he is my lecturer. I silently pray Blaine was here. He's know exactly what to say.

"I have my moments," Stupid, I feel stupid.

"The coffee you threw at me left a huge stain that won't come off, on a very expensive suit I might add."

"Well, I won't say you didn't deserve it," That's right. Hold your ground.

He looks at me and he's amused. His smile is slick and clean, and sly. His eyebrows are perfectly shaped and his eyes- Yes, I understand Ginger now. He is handsome.

"You think I deserved to be scalded?"

"I think water would've sufficed, but I had coffee in my hands so, yeah."

"So I should expect an apology, I presume?"

"Apology? Your audacity really is through this roof. You made me lose my job, Mister Parker."

"You acted impulsively. I can't be held accountable for that, can I?" He's smiling, a stupid- gorgeous- sly smile. "Though I don't regret making you lose my job."

"Let me guess, because I scalded you?"

"Well, that and you ruined an expensive suit- and also, a face like yours shouldn't be behind a counter, making coffee."

My brows shoot to the heaven. Did he just flirted with me? I gulp hard and remind myself to hold my ground.

"Where should it be then?" I can play along, I guess.

"On a canvas. An art piece, because that's what it is."

What the fuck.

"So urm- ballet. You teach history of ballet," My attempt to change the rather maladroit subject. Damn, that was subtle. He's amused again, pulling that smile.

"I do, and I'm very good at it."

"Lucky me then."

"Yes, lucky."

Now that I'm up close with him, I understand what Ginger and all those other sluts were crazy about. This man is handsome- really handsome. His eyes especially- they see right through you. He's dressed in an all black get up tuxedo and he looks mighty fine. His hair is swept back, with tiny locks falling off over his ear. I need an exit, please, and like a prayer, Cooper comes and interrupts.

"Kurt, do you think you can go check on Blaine? He's outside."

"Okay, sure," I respond quickly.

"Thanks," Cooper leaves to join a group of men standing by the ice sculpture.

"Well, I guess I'll see you in your lecture, Mister Parker-"

"Gabe," he smiles that smile. I realize then, that he's older than me, probably Cooper's age. God is he handsome, screw you Ginger.

"Do I get to know your name or do I have to check the name list?" he smiles, teasingly.

Okay, what is happening.

"Kurt. Kurt Hummel," I say politely.

"Kurt. Great name," he says, and I pry my hand quickly, flashing him once last smile as I scurry away, flashing crimson.

Blaine is outside, sitting on the small steps that leads to the house. He's smoking, and I know that's not a good sign.

"Hi," I say but he doesn't respond. "You okay?" he's staring up at the non existent stars as I sit next to him.

After a long moment, he speaks. "Ever feel like no matter what you do, you can never make your parents proud?"

"Sometimes," I tell. "Sometimes I feel like even if I become president, I'm still never good enough because my dad deserves more."

"That's a good point," he says, blowing smoke from his mouth, a cigarette in his fingers.

"What's wrong?" I ask quietly.

"I just feel like- I can achieve so much, get accepted to the best school, graduate with a perfect GPA, get my masters but my parents will never love me or be proud of me like they are with Cooper."

"Blaine," I comfort, putting an arm over his shoulder and resting my chin on his arm outstretched that is placed on his knee.

"It's because I'm gay," he says. He's staring up at the sky.

I say nothing, because it was not a question- it was an observation that I know is true.

"If it's any consolation, I'm proud of you- beyond words can express, and I love you- beyond words can express too."

He smiles shyly and tilts his head so he's resting on mine. "I love you too, Kurt."

I want to tell him that he doesn't need his parents to be proud of him or love him like Cooper, because it doesn't matter but he needs it for himself- and that I understand.

"Do you want to leave?" I ask.

"I want to go in there and fuck that waiter square, and then leave. I should at least get some pleasure from tonight, right?" he smiles.

"Go ahead," I sigh and he grins. "I'll wait out here."

"Okay, be right back!"

"Go do your thing."

I know that he wants to drown his sorrow of not being good enough away, and though I disapprove, I know he needs it for himself.

-------

Morning sucks when you wore the wrong underwear and you're late for class. I'm dashing down the street desperately not wanting to miss that Ballet History class.

For the lecture, or the lecturer- I don't know.

I have two more minutes to arrive at the lecture hall when I just enter the NYADA school gate. I dash down the hallway, ignoring glares and stares and make it with a minute to spare. I push the door open and stumble in, landing on my palms in which someone grabs me. He pulls me up I am greeted with those spectacular green eyes.

"Good morning," he smirks and I blush.

"Sorry," I mumble quickly and pull myself away from him. "I hope I'm not late."

"You have twenty seconds to spare. Is this you then? Punctual than early?"

"I maximize my time," I say as I quickly go around him and run to my seat, unfortunately all the front rows are filled with ogled eyed, drooling mouth girls. I roll my eyes and take a seat next to a scrawny boy I recognize from my dance class.

"Alright, now the Ballet originated in the Italian Renaissance courts of the 15th century and was later developed into a concert dance in France and Russia. Since the Renaissance, there have been am evolvement of stylistic variations. The most famous of ballet though, is known as the Romantic Ballet, also known as Ballet Blanc which is a classical style that focuses on there pointe work of the female dancers."

I am bored out of my mind, but I am too engrossed in this man's face. He looks so- calm and at ease as he talks, with his delicious lips and his god amazing physique. Apparently when you stare and drool over someone, times flashes by and soon I hear the clasp of a textbook next to me that brings me from my reverie.

"Alright then, I hope you got everything. I'll be giving a short quiz about the Ballet Blanc tomorrow, so study up."

I am bewildered. He only thought like a single fact about the Ballet Blanc- wait, how long was I in a trance? Oh lord I can't afford to drool over my hot teacher this class is important.

I ask the scrawny kid next to me if I can borrow his notes and he frowns at me. Stupid, stingy rich kids. I know what I have to do- ask for an external one-to-one lesson, otherwise I'm so flunking. But would he allow it? Would he even want to?

I wait as the carnally hungry girls slowly begin to disperse from Mister Parker. Finally once he's alone and doesn't notice me still in the seats, I walk down the states and approach him- gulping when those gleaming green eyes catches sight of me and sparkles in amusement.

"Mister Parker, I'm sorry to trouble you, but I didn't quite understand your lesson today. I was wondering if you could maybe give me an additional lesson and rehash everything of this lesson about the Ballet Blanc?"

He's smiling that idiotic- gorgeous, again- grin. I feel like I'm about to met into a puddle. I keep my composure anyway, holding my books on my sides.

"Were you distracted?" he ask, tilting his head and frowning at me slightly. I lose my senses.

"Not technically. I just didn't quite understand your lesson," I lie, because truth is yes I was distracted. By you and your stupid hair, and your stupid full lips, and your emerald diamond eyes- oh fuck.

"I see, well I suppose I can conduct a private lesson. After school, Stumptown Coffee Roasters. 18 West 29th Street. You know where that is?"

I am momentarily taken aback- outside of NYADA?- I wonder vaguely why we can't have the lesson here, or in his office, anywhere but outside. But I agree anyway.

"Great, I'll see you there at five. Goodbye, Kurt," he emphasizes my name, his lips perfectly shaped as he sounds my name and grins before exiting.

What is wrong with me.

---------

It's lunchtime and I have no plans- that's a first. If Blaine doesn't call me out for lunch it's probably because he's swamped at work. I shrug and decide to work on my dancing skills while everyone is out- so no one will laugh or make snarky comments.

I tiptoe into Cassadra's dance studio, thankful she isn't here either. Dropping my bag, I head to the great wall mirror and grasp tightly on the rail as I practice my pirouette. I'm always confused which leg do you turn to.

"Nice pirouette, Kurt," a voice comments and I turn. Mister green eyes is standing there, resting on the door frame as he watches me.

"Doubt it. I've always sucked."

"That's because you can't have a flat foot when you turn," he tells me.

"I'll fall if I straighten my feet."

"It's all about balance, Kurt. Here," he drops his sling-on briefcase and strolls towards me. I gulp so hard.

"Face the mirror," he tells me and I do. "Get your hands on a port de bra position," I do as I'm told.

"Not that close. Your fingers can't be touching," he places his hands on my wrist from behind me and gently tugs my hand away from each other in an inch- I gasp quietly.

"Shoulders down and straight," he puts his hands on my shoulders and I tense immediate. "Relax," he says and I can feel him grinning.

Oh god this asshole knows I'm nervous, but I can't show him I am. Compose yourself, Hummel. Compose.

"Now get into a tendu position," I do so and outstretched my legs slightly. "Good," he says.

"Now a Demi plié," I want to crumble so bad but I do and he mutters another congratulatory yes to me. "Now a passé," I elevate and I turn but my leg diminishes me and I crumble, but am caught by a pair of strong arms.

"Carefully. Balance through your arms," he says.

"It's just so- bloody difficult even Josephine Baker couldn't do this."

He laughs, a laugh so serene it makes me want to fly. "It's okay, just try again."

"From the start," he tells me as he takes a stance behind me. Weird.

I do so, starting from the tendu, then slowly to the Demi plié as I elevate into a passé I nearly crumble but then I gracefully turn when I concentrate my balance on my arms. I'm gleeful as I gracefully turn.

"Like a graceful swan," he says and I blush.

"See, it's all about knowing your balance."

"Wow, I've never successfully done one before. Thank you," I say in excitement because I am full of adrenaline now.

"Well, seeing as you already move with such grace, all you needed was to know how to balance," he tells me and I blush so hard I practically wore a blusher.

"Thank you," I say.

"I better be going then. I'm looking forward later this afternoon," he smiles that sexy smile of his before leaving the room.

--------

"Hey," Blaine says when I pick up his call.

"I was beginning to think you forgot about me," I joke.

"I'm sorry. I have so much to do today. The Taiwan office caught fire now we have to fund the damage it's crazy hectic here. What's up with you?"

"I think my lecturer is gay, and he likes me," I tell.

"The same lecturer you threw coffee at?" he ask, suddenly deeply interested.

"The very same."

"Hah! Oh god this sounds interesting. Why do you think so?"

"Well, for starters he was at that party last night and we talked and he sort of flirted with me- I think. I don't know you know how I'm bad at signals. Today I asked him for a private lesson and he was more than willing for it, oh and he helped me with my pirouette."

"What's that? A sexual fetish-"

"It's a ballet move, you sicko."

"Private lesson is actually a known term for when a teacher and a student wants to go somewhere and do the dirty," Blaine tells.

"What? No! Do you think he thinks that? No we're having a rehash lesson at a coffee place."

"Suit yourself Kurt," I sense his smirk. "Maybe he is interested in you. Is there a rule against that?"

"No, I don't think so. Cassandra slept with Brody remember? The whole school knew about it but she wasn't fired nor was he expelled. He's more of a second source lecturer."

"Good then. Is he a troll?"

A troll? I can't believe his words. I want to tell him no- tell him he has green eyes like a fresh rainforest, hair so perfectly coiffed yet it comes across as lazy sexy. His physique and his strong biceps I want to he held for eternity in. Those full lips- oh god.

"No. He's quite attractive," I suffice.

"Well good then. Go to that coffee place, find out if he likes you. If he keeps slipping compliments to you, he's probably interested."

"Urg, I'm nervous."

"Don't be. Remember he's the jerk who made you lose your job, maybe that'll keep your grounded."

"You're so right," I tell him and note mentally to remember that the next time he says something that makes my knees go weak. "Are you okay? From last night," I ask Blaine, changing the topic.

"Fine as I'll ever be," he tells me. He's still sad, I can tell. I hate when he's sad.

"Do you want me to cancel my lesson? I can come meet you and we can go to the Planetarium." He loves that place the most because that's the only place you get to see stars- fake ones though.

"Nah it's okay. Go ahead and meet this sexy prof," he smirks.

"Funny. See you tomorrow?"

"Sure, call me later and tell me how it goes."

"Okay."

--------

By afternoon I am making my way down to Stumpdown Coffee Roaster. It's a small, intimate little coffee house. The booths are spaced out so there is privacy and you can almost taste the fresh brewed coffee.

I walk in and the girl behind the counter smiled sweetly at me. She's a petite, pretty girl probably in college. She wears her blond her in a ponytail though I have a sneaking suspicion that's not her real hair color.

I look around in search of my lecturer and he's there, sitting in one of the booths, tapping on hi BlackBerry- strangely reminding me of my bestfriend.

Remember, he's the jerk that made you lose your job, I tell myself as I confidently stroll towards the booth he is at at the far end of the coffee house.

He looks up when I slide into the booth and a delightful, heart stopping smile pulls across those full lips. Yes, my heart stop.

"Hi," he says.

"I'm sorry I'm late," I say because I am fifteen minutes late.

"Hm, isn't punctuality your thing?" he teases.

"Sometimes maximizing time cuts into plans," I tell him. "So shall we start?" I want to keep this little meet up brief and clipped.

"Do you want a coffee first? It's the least I can do for making you lose your job," he smirks.

"Sure. A caramel latte," I tell him

"As you wish," he says as he clambers out of the the booth with such ease. "Whip?" he ask.

"Double, thanks," I say in short, because let's face it, if I look up at him I'll probably lose all sense of articulation.

He appears shortly after, with my cup of coffee in his hands and his smile to me. I think I lost all feelings in my legs.

"Now, you're not gonna toss this at you, are you?" he teases, hesitating to hand me the takeaway cup.

"That solely depends on you," I say, mentally patting myself for not succumbing to his charm.

"So, Ballet Blanc. I'd like to know more," I press.

"Well, basically all you need to know is that ballet Blanc is all about romance. The affection, the intimacy- ballet Blanc is known to capture the audience's heart with the connection between the two dancers. It symbolizes love, often forbidden love."

I scribble down what he says quickly on my notepad and can almost feel his amusing smile on me. I glance up and frown at him.

"What?" I say.

"You know they have laptops now, right?" he says.

"I know, but I prefer writing with my hands not tapping away on a key."

"Old school, I get it." He says and I frown, not understanding what he means.

"Is that all? About ballet Blanc?" I ask.

"Well, yeah-" he tells me. "At least that's what I'm testing about though."

I'm confused. If the information is that brief why in the world are we here then? I thought I would've gotten an extremely long lecture about the history and the contemporary take on Ballet Blanc.

"If it's that short then why did we have to meet to discuss the lesson? You could've told me after class," I say, frowning.

He studies me, rubbing on the slight stubble on his chin. "Hm you're right. Since we're here, tell me about yourself."

My eyes go wide and my brows shoot to the heavens, again. "What?" I say, confused once again.

"Tell me about yourself," he repeats casually.

"But we're here because I didn't quite understand the lesson-"

"I know, and I've explained it to you. Since we have a little bit of time, why don't we get to know each other."

My mouth opens to utter something, but snaps shut because for the life of me I don't understand what he's asking.

"Look, I'll be frank Kurt. I like you, and I find you interesting. Though you did toss that scalding hot coffee at me, I admire such tenacity. So tell me about yourself, because I'd like you know," he says and it makes me blush so hard.

He's gay. Holy shit he's gay- and he's interested in me.

"Okay, well-" I start, though my palms start to sweat. The words Blaine told me earlier haunts back to me. He's the one that made you lose your job, so I regain my composure.

"I went to McKinley High in Lima, Ohio. I get into NYADA at my second application. Urm- I want to be on Broadway someday-"

"Broadway?" He says with a riddled amusement.

"Yes, Broadway. I like reading books, I'm currently jobless," I glare at him. "Yeah, basically that."

"Why Broadway?" He asks me.

"Urm- because I've always dreamt of being on a stage, and you can't get that realistically in movies that you get in Broadway."

"That's an interesting perception," he says.

"I guess," I shrug.

"Why were you working down at that coffee shop?" I frown slightly. How is that a question.

"Pays the rent," I tell.

"Most of the kids in NYADA are well off. I take it you're not," he says and I feel a tinge of annoyance.

"Well, not everyone has a trust fund we can dig up to to get the latest suits now, do we?" I shoot at him, but he reciprocated with a slug smile.

"Hm, you're right. I'm sorry," An apology! I should write the date down.

"Anything else you want to know?" I say.

"Nope, unless you have more interesting facts about yourself you'd like to say aloud."

"I'm good. I feel like it's only fair you do the same."

"Okay," he says. "I graduated from Julliard, performing arts major. I manage the Art of Ballet gallery down at Madison."

"Why are you interested in Ballet? Seems like an odd aspiration for someone who looks like you do," I say and he's bemused.

"Ballet has always been my favorite form of art. I get this tinge, this warm feeling in my heart when I watch a performance. Also, my mother used to practice ballet before she passed."

I gulp. "I'm sorry," I say.

"Don't worry about it." he wavers. "So you grew up in Lima? I bet you were a catch."

I gulp once more. I hate feeling shy, especially in front of this god given man. "If by catch you mean a constant victim of verbal, and occasionally physical, abuse then yes."

His gleaming smile turns to a slit. A sympathetic frown dons. He places a hand over mine suddenly and brushes his thumb over my knuckles. "I'm sorry you were bullied," he tells me.

"It's fine, though my bestfriend always made it better. He was a jock so naturally everyone stayed clear of him," I smile at my past.

"Tell me about this best friend," he presses.

"Well, I've know him my whole life. We grew up together as neighbors- went to the same preschool right up to high school and now he lives in New York too. He's my haven, you know? My safe place. Someone I know I can run to when times get rough, though I find it annoying when he tries to take care of me."

"What do you mean?" he presses.

"Well, he's always trying to take care of me, since we were in preschool and I got picked on a lot. He would always stand up for me even if I can handle it. In high school, he sort of found his clique with the jocks for awhile- but he didn't know that those guys picked on me, like really bad. It got really out of hand that at one point I ended up in the hospital because I hit my head badly when one of those jocks dumped me in the trash, I was in a coma for two weeks," I don't understand why am I opening myself up to this man, but someone he makes me feel like I can admit these things to him. He watches me in sympathy, that thumb still running across my knuckles soothingly.

"When that happened, he sort of felt like he was to blame because he didn't take care of me even though I tried to tell him it wasn't his fault. Ever since then he just never stops taking care of me. It's annoying, but I know he does it for him."

"He sounds like a great guy," he compliments and I smile.

"He is- the best. Blaine's practically my whole world."

"Wait- Blaine Anderson? As in the Vice President of Anderson Banking?" he says in shock and I sigh. The normal reaction people get when I tell them Blaine Anderson is my best friend. He's a bigger deal than he knows.

"The very same," I tell him.

"God, that guy's like in the Times magazine. He was second in their list of top ten list of most inspirational Bachelors under twenty five," he tells me and I nod proudly, because even though Blaine feels like he's not good enough for his parents- the whole world admires his achievement.

"So that's who you were plus one to at that dinner party last night."

"Yeah," I smile. "Oh, why were you there?" I ask, slowly feeling at ease with the conversation.

"Ah, Blaine's mother wants to have her fashion show at my Ballet gallery so she invited me to stop by."

"Oh that's right- her new line."

"Yeah," he tells me. "You're coming, I presume? Next week?" there is a hopeful gleam in his tone that makes me smile. "You have a great smile. An observation, not a question."

I am blushing hard. How did this happen. Just yesterday I was hating his guts for destroying my job, now I'm blushing and feel all shy because I find him adorable with that ridiculously salacious smile?

We talk for god knows how long. He tells me about his past, how his passion for ballet started, how he never succeeded to be a dancer but chose the career to inspire others to love ballet. His eyes are gleaming when he tells me about his passion and I feel all glee inside.

His hand is still on mine, brushing lightly across my knuckles. He stops then and cheeks his watch and his eyes go wide.

"How is it nine o'clock already," he says and it's my turn to look shellshocked.

"Nine? What?" I say in true surprise.

"Well, time goes by when you're enjoying yourself, right? And I've certainly enjoyed myself."

He looks at me with those eyes- those green eyes that sparkled like emerald diamonds. A rare type, much like his eyes. He gently pulls his hand away and slides out of the booth. For a brief moment, I feel a wave of disappointment that he's about to leave.

"Where do you live?" he asks me.

"Urm- it's around the corner from NYADA. I think I'm just gonna walk."

"Great," he says. "I'll walk you home."

I can actually feel my lungs contract.

--------

The streets are still hectically busy, a normal sight in New York though. I walk beside the Gabe as we make out way to my building. My nerves are still intact.

"What's wrong?" he ask, turning at me and frowning.

"Nothing," I respond.

We make the turn to my apartment, a dark street with flickering lamp post on either wide of the small road. "Hi Ben," I greet. He's the homeless man that lives in front of my building.

Your average creeper with until long hair and beard hiding his jaw and mouth. He looks up at me and wave as I pull out a packet of chocolate twigges and hand it to him.

"Thanks Kurt."

"No problem," I smile.

"What was that?" I turn a face the green eyed man looking at me like I'm an alien.

"What?"

"Did you just give food to a homeless man?" he has that amused smile on his full lips.

"Yeah. I give him something everyday when I come home," I say nonchalantly.

"And here I thought you were a tenacious, fearless man. You're have a soft spot too," he teases.

"Of course I do."

We arrive in front of my building and we stop as I fumble in my bag for my key. He watches me as I do.

"Well, I had a nice time today. Thank you for the extra lesson Mister Parker-"

"Gabe, Kurt. You can call me Gabe," he tells me. "And yes, I had a nice time too." His smile is so bright I think I have to physically cover my cheeks so they won't blush.

"Well, bye," I say and as I'm about to walk up the steps toward the entrance door, I am tugged back and my lips find Gabe's. I gasp for abit, but lose myself as his hands snake around my neck.

I am on my toes as he kisses me. Oh lord, the kiss. His lips are thick and full and they feel like feather pillows on my lips. The strong grip he has behind my neck feels so firm. I lose myself into his kiss as his lips take me into an oblivion.

My arms go numb and my body feels afloat as he pulls me close by my waist and deepens our kiss. I am breathless when we finally part, my lips probably drain of color.

"Sorry," he mutters shyly, looking at the gravel. He has that smile on his face again.

I am speechless as I try so hard not to look into his eyes, but he tilts my chin up and our eyes burn into each other. Blue to green.

"I had a really, really nice time, Kurt," his voice is a whisper and it tickles my ears.

"Me too," I say with whatever oxygen I have left

"And I hope we can do this again," he says and there is promise in his tone.

"Which part? The coffee or the kiss?"

He lets out a small laughter that sounds so angelic I think I'm in heaven. "Both," he says, then he lets my chin go.

"Goodnight," he utters sweetly before walking away, back to the route we came from.

I stand there, completely dazed at what just transpired.

------

The next morning, I arise with butterflies in my stomach and pure excitement to go to my nine AM lecture- for one reason only.

I do not understand what happened last night. Okay, lets note a few things; mister Parker- Gabe, his name is Gabe- definitely likes me. He's definitely gay, he's interesting and passionate about Ballet. I loved watching him talk about it. The light in his eyes was so good to admire.

He is handsome beyond his own knowledge, I think. He is humble about how he looks- but god is he handsome. Those eyes, those brows- everything basically.

I jump into the shower and wash myself with that jasmine shower gel. I stand in the mirror and study myself.

I am pale, there are black rings under my eyes, I am not toned, my stomach is flat, my arms are scrawny and I have no biceps. I feel translucent, and I wonder how a man like Gabe Parker- gorgeous-could be remotely interested in me.

I stand in front of my clothing rack and try to meticulously pick something out. I don't want something that will scream desperate, I want something subtle, sophisticated but still sexy. Though with my natural lack of allure, I can slip on a G-string and walk into a gay bar nobody would still want to tap this.

I suffice with my tight white skinny jeans, and the Paul Jobskins dress shirt Blaine so stubbornly bought for me. I slip on low cut Doctor Martens and sit in the kitchen, munching on Waffle O's reading today's paper.

My phone rings then and it gets my attention. "Hello?" I say.

"Hey Hummel. I hope you're dressed spanking fine," Blaine says.

"Good morning to you too,"

"Where are you?"

"Home, breakfast," I tell.

"Great. Be down in ten I'll give you a ride to school," he says before he hangs up.

I down my moderate breakfast quickly and am out the door racing down the stairs- my subconscious obviously in excitement to attend my lecture class.

"Good morning," I hum as I enter the backseat of the town car where Blaine is already seated in.

"What's so good about it," he groans.

"Nothing. Just feels like it's going to be a good day."

"Doubt it," he mutters "How did coffee with prof asshole go?"

"It was- well, to suffice it, it was unexpected."

"Okay, I'm intrigued. Spill whatever it is," he says as he settles his blackberry into his jacket pocket.

"He...kissed me," I say, not believing my words either.

"He- wait what? He kissed you? He really is gay?"

"Yup," I say gleefully.

Blaine is wearing a frown. I know that look. He's disapproving. Why the hell is he disapproving?

"What?" I frown back at him.

"Nothing. How did he kiss you?"
he ask.

I brush him off, not wanting him to ruin this. "Well, our little extra lesson turned to like a whole night of getting to know each other. He told me about his passion in ballet, where he grew up..everything. Then he walked me home and he kissed me before he went."

"Aw that's so PG thirteen."

"Shut up," I roll my eyes at him.

"So will there be a second date then?" Blaine ask.

"I think so- I mean he did hint that he hopes we can do it again sometime. I don't know, but I'm hopeful."

"You're practically bouncing on your seat, Kurt."

"Can you blame me?" I say matter-of-factly.

"Just be careful, okay?"

"What are you talking about?" I frown at him.

"Well, you don't know this guy. For all you know, he might be just out looking for ass-"

"You know, contrary to your beliefs, not every gay guy is like you."

"Kurt, I'm just saying- be careful, that's all. You never know a person's intentions," Blaine tells. There he does again, being protective over me.

"You kinda are hypocritical when you say that," I admit. "I mean, you sleep win men every night-"

"Precisely why I'm telling you to be careful, that's all. God, relax," he says.

I cross my arms over my chest and thank the non existent Gods that we've arrived in front of NYADA despite the heavy traffic.

"I'll see you later," I mumble lazily as I clamber out the door, slamming it shut before I could catch his response.

I know he's being protective- he's usual self with me- but it really is hypocritical. He sleeps with men every night and he never knows their intentions yet he takes them home anyway. I sigh and head into gates of hell once more.

Ginger is already up front with all the other sluts awaiting the arrival of our handsome new lecturer- that is kinky six gay and kissed me last night.

He slip into the seat on the forth floor just as Gabe- yes, Gabe, because he kissed me now I feel comfortable using his first names- enters the lecture hall and climbs onto the podium.

"Good morning everyone," he searches the crowd and when his eyes fall upon me, he smiles salaciously for a brief few seconds.

"Today, we'll be learning about the history of the pirouette."

Before he begins talking, he looks at me once more and winks at me. My heart flakes into leaves on an Autumn day.