Chapter 13

Author's Note:  Hey guys!  Happy New Year.  Thanks so much for all of the crazy reviews and subscriptions you've been giving me on here… it means the world.  Let it be known that I've started writing the sequel, thanks to a few crazies convincing me to do so.  Not sure if I'll ever post it, but at least some of it is written for the sake of my own practice?  Who even knows what I'm saying.  Anyway!  I hope you guys are all warm where you are… freezing in New York, and keep reviewing and sharing and following me on Tumblr!  I love to hear from you guys because all of you are so awesome.  So… enjoy and don't hate me too much?  xx

September

“What's a pretty little boy like you doing in here?”

Blaine squints at the drunken man standing to support the cinderblocks adjacent to his seat on the cement slab that could double as a bed.  It's funny; Blaine hadn't noticed the man for the past hour and a half in this 8x8 square of a room off the side of the 39th precinct of Ohio. Blaine rises and paces, throwing a hand through his hair in distress.

“Leave me the fuck alone, old man.”

The fellow prisoner is probably in his late forties, with matted hair and missing teeth.  He laughs, with a grin that's uncharacteristic of the rest of the scenery. 

“Oh shit, boys.  We've got a tough guy.”  The man is nearing Blaine's comfort zone and suddenly he's only inches away.  The tequila on his breath is strong, but the fact that he hasn't brushed his teeth in at least two weeks is far more noticeable than any alcohol could be.  Blaine unconsciously scrunches his nose and exhales continuously to keep the smell out of his nostrils, filling them with his own air instead.

“Get. The fuck. Out of my face.”  Blaine stands on the points of his toes to appear taller than the man, failing miserably.  He furrows his eyebrows and produces a serious expression, hopefully as intimidating as he feels.  Blaine pushes him away, balls of his palms ricocheting off of the drunk's shoulders.

Blaine Anderson is a survivor.  He can survive his father; surely, he can overcome this.

The man laughs again and body checks Blaine, sending him to the ground, saved graciously by the padding of his ass.  He stumbles until the small of his back crashes in contact with the wall.  He's stalking up into the face of the drunk man, watching on for his next move in what seems to be Blaine's very first prison fight.  Blaine pulls himself into a perch, like a leopard frozen in time until the wild rabbit is utterly unaware of his presence.  They are both guarded and waiting for the other's next action. 

A cop interrupts by unlocking the sliding door of chrome bars.

“Let's go, Bates.  We're releasing you.”

The man tilts his head to side eye the public servant and jumps, clicking his heels in the air like a leprechaun. 

Blaine exhales the breath he's been holding since he was knocked to the ground.

“I'm freeeeeeeeee!”

Blaine is furious.  He sighs, brushing himself off as he rises from the ground and back to his spot on the slab of concrete elevated from the ground just enough to notice the difference in height.  Besides the small interaction with his cellmate, he didn't even do anything wrong and now he's cornered into a box with bars until someone can get in touch with Santana.  They're certainly not trying very hard to find her, and it's probably because they want him to suffer.

He looks around, examining the lack of supplies one might need in a holding cell.  At least on television, these places have a place to pee.  “Excuse me?  I have to use the bathroom.”

“Shut your trap, boy!”  The disgruntled cop from the coffee shop snaps his head to face the boy.  “Or we'll lose your little hero and forget we're even looking for her.”

He groans and slams his fist into the space next to him.  The hard material hurts his hand, but it's nothing he can't handle right now.  He's got to get out of here.  He has no choice but to call Kurt, as embarrassing and shameful as the conversation will be.

“Can I at least have my phone call?  I really want my phone call.”

The cop stares at him.  The one next to him cackles.

“Maybe later, fag.”

He's going insane.  The small-town words don't sting too much, not anymore.  He's used to it, and they'll never change no matter how much he fights back every single time.  Blaine throws his head into his hands and waits.  He waits, and rises, and paces, and waits, and wiggles so he doesn't pee his pants, and suggests the police officers invest in some sort of company directory for the courthouse, especially if they can't seem to find Santana Lopez's extension in the now two hours he's been trapped in this one particular hell.   Or they could just Google her.  Or just look in his fucking phone that they so conveniently confiscated before locking him up in this sleazehole.

“You know, I didn't even do anything wrong.”

“What part of ‘anything you say can and will be held against you' don't you understand, Anderson?”

“You guys told me four miles, though!  I was within four miles, I swear to God!”

“Anderson.  Shut it.”

Blaine's head snaps upward at the change in voice.  “Santana!  Thank you!  You have to get me outta here.”  He approaches the bars and grips each fist around each of two evenly spaced poles. 

Santana walks to the counter officially and with purpose.  She speaks seductively to the man and follows him over to the cell as he unlocks it and grabs at Blaine's bicep.  The other police officer handcuffs him behind his back and leads him into a private room.  There is a large window on one side of the room, but it's not leading to the outside world.  It's obvious that it's leading to a secret holding room for whoever needs to listen to the conversation between a lawyer and a client or, in Blaine's case, the talk between troubled teenager and his parole officer.  There's a barred, smaller window that only takes up a few feet nearest to the ceiling facing the courtyard where Santana chased after Blaine the last time they were in this building back in May, and an old, beat-up maple table with two folding chairs sitting on opposite ends. 

Santana sits in one of the chairs and motions to the other one.

Blaine sits and stares at her.

“I didn't fucking do anything.”

“You went past your damn boundary, Blaine!  I drew you a God damned map!”  Santana's frustrated, disappointed.

“No, I swear I didn't go anywhere I wasn't supposed to.  I took the same exact route that I always take to the Lima Bean, I swear to God.  The GPS beep thing didn't even go off!  They know who I am and follow me around basically everywhere because of my fucking father.”  The creases in his forehead could split the Red Sea. 

Santana doesn't unlock the eye contact, and squints to determine his lying skills.

“I swear, San.  I'll do anything to prove it.”

“Okay.  Stop.  I'm going to try to get you out of here.  You okay?”

“What time is it?”

“Like eleven.”

“God, Kurt's probably freaking the fuck out by now.  I'm always there two hours ago.”

“Let's just…  Blaine, focus on the issue at hand.”

Santana stands, pushing into the table and leaning across to share a secret.

“Do not breathe a word until I say so.”

Blaine nods.  “I really have to pee and they aren't letting me.”

Santana laughs.  “Soon, I promise.”

Blaine waits.  He paces, he waits.  He attempts to lift his hands up and over his shoulders but he's not as double-jointed and some may hope.  He slams his wrists back down onto the seat behind him and sighs.  He squirms a bit as though that action alone will demolish the metal of the cuffs digging into each wrist.  He leans his forehead down on the surface of the table and he closes his eyes in an attempt to suck in his tears.  He really has to pee. 

He can't even fathom what his father is going to do to him when he hears about this mishap.  Technically speaking, his father is his representation against the law and Blaine is certain he would rot in jail forever if it were up to Christian.  Since he could remember, Blaine has never been good enough for anyone in his life.  Although it was better at home before he was honest with his sexual preference, it was never the best childhood ever.  Home never once felt like home, and his father has always blamed him for every terrible thing that's happened to their family, even if their issues were a far cry from being an actual relevant issue compared to terrible things that happened to other families.  Blaine often referred to their issues as First World Problems.  Things like Starbucks being moved to the mall instead of a willable distance or the fact that their transmission blew on their hundred-thousand-dollar sedan were absolute travesties, even though Christian Anderson made more money than God.  They were never starving, and everyone always had what they needed.  It was an easy life.  Christian Anderson's opportunity to use Blaine as his own personal punching bag had nothing to do with the fact that the boy was gay before he was open about it.  It was because he was too short, started drinking coffee too early, missed curfew.  Christian Anderson used anything to take his rage out on his son.

It must have been thirty minutes before Santana comes back with a different cop entirely.

“Listen.  Don't panic.  I have a plan, but you have to stay here until I figure it out.”

“Santana!  What the hell?  Please get me out of here.”  He's putting all his trust in her because he can't stand to rely on anyone else.  

“It's going to be okay, Blaine, come on.”  She nudges him to follow the cop back into a holding cell.  “I'm going to call Kurt.  He owes me a few favors.”

“What does Kurt have to do with anything?  Please don't drag him into the drama.  Fuck.  Did they even tell you why I'm here?”

“You've gone beyond your probation conditions.  You apparently were in a red-zone beyond your four miles.  You ignored the fact that you needed to register for school and get a job, despite all my efforts.” Santana grins, as if to say told you so.  She glances at the detective leading the way, probably listening in to their conversation intently.  “I'm going to try to get a business owner down here to interview you for a job.”

“Kurt.”

Before he can say anything further, he's slammed back into the same holding cell.

“Easy, cholo.  He's just a damn kid.”  Her stilettos are clicking angrily across the tiled floor and out the building.

“Santana.”

“I'll be back, Blaine.  I promise.”  She winks at him over her shoulder and turns to the guys drooling at her behind the desk.  “And let the kid pee, for God's sake.  We all know how illegal that shit is, and I'd hate to have to track down the warden for something as idiotic as that.”

xK&Bx

Julie insists on sticking around even though the coffee shop has been unusually empty since the crack of dawn.  She stands firm in staying, if not for the extra hours but also so she can learn the ropes a bit more.  She knows that Kurt wants to train her to become the manager, and although it may not be a career goal for the rest of her life, a long-term position at a popular small business might sprinkle her resume with the pixie dust it needs.  Later, Kurt will be grateful for her persistence, as Austin calls out sick anyway.  Julie's not doing anything else today; she volunteers to stick around for a double-shift, no problem, to show her boss how committed she is to his business.

Kurt notices that Blaine doesn't appear at 9:05, and chalks it up against the way he treated him yesterday.  Regrettable words were said, the most sensitive of feelings were agonized and bleeding out on the floor as that beautiful boy absorbed all of what Kurt said about them never having a chance together. 

If Kurt were Blaine, he's pretty positive he wouldn't have shown up today either.  Kurt is such a fucking dick; he ruins everything, even friendships with seventeen-year-olds. 

“Hey, Kurt?”  Julie calls out to her boss, effectively snapping him out of his train of thought.

“Yeah, Jules.”

“I'm on my last gallon of milk up here.  I didn't see any in the fridge.  Do you want me to go get some?”

“Oh!  That's not good.  I'll go get some; you're good here alone for a little bit?”

“Yeah, no problem!”

xK&Bx

Kurt needs a break from the shop, he needs to absorb his mind in his thoughts without interruption, and browsing grocery store aisles is the perfect excuse.  He regrets pushing Blaine away and he hopes that he can fix it.  Maybe he'll be at the shop by the time he gets back with the generous supply of milk.

Or so he thinks. 

The drive to the local Corner Grocery is too short and not enough to escape reality.  He parks, leaves the car running until the end of the newest Daft Punk song, then stalks into the store ready with a mental list of only one product needed.

Walking through the store without a schedule and rather aimlessly, he's taking the time to utilize his brain, far into thought, running through his pros and cons list when it comes to his beautiful Blaine.  He feels terrible for being such an asshole to the boy and is trying to figure out what he can say to make it all better, and he regrets pushing him away although that's exactly what needs to happen.

Suddenly, his shopping cart collides with another in the pasta aisle, an area clear across the store from the much-needed variety of dairy products displayed.

“Oh my God!  I'm so sorry!”  Kurt is shocked at his carelessness and overall distracted demeanor but deems to make it up to this mystery man right now.  “I'm really sorry.”

“You, kind sir, can collide with my shopping cart anytime.”

Kurt's head jerks to look at the other man and blushes.  He's admittedly gorgeous and he's clearly flirting, and hopefully gay because God, when Kurt asked for something to take his mind off of Blaine, he got served with a silver platter of sexpot deliciousness quicker than the cows could come home.  With all of that said about his new friend standing in front of him in the pasta aisle, when Kurt is nervous, he is snarky.

“Creative.”

“My name is Sebastian.”  The man's eyes twinkle and rake up and down his body.  Definitely gay.

Fine, Kurt's intrigued.  If anything, he's at least closer to his own age than Blaine is.  Isn't this what he had been hoping would happen – a good-looking distraction to take his mind, body, and cock off of the high-schooler?  He's momentarily forgotten about Blaine and the general desire to make all okay with the boy.

“Kurt.”

“Nice to meet you.  What brings you… here?”

Kurt can't help but laugh.  “Your pick-up lines are only tailored for the bar, huh?”

Sebastian grins, “Guilty as charged.  I'm not used to chance meetings by way of fate.”

Oh.

Kurt answers anyway.  “I'm here for the groceries.  Really, just the milk.”

Sebastian smiles again then looks to his almost-full cart.  “I'm apparently here for… Cheez-Its, hamburger meat, and a phone number.”

Kurt gets it, he understands what's happening with this conversation and he's already decided a few exchanges ago what it's going to lead to because what else is he doing?  This could be really great for him; this could very easily make an awesome “how did you meet” story.

“Edible phone numbers, like those Gushers we had when we were kids?  Fruit by the phone number?”

Sebastian seemingly hasn't stopped laughing since the crash of carts only a few minutes ago.

“Only if your phone number is something you think I should use as a snack.”

Kurt throws his head back and laughs, pausing to grab Sebastian's iPhone that he's been playing with between his fingers throughout the conversation and punches his number in, hits “call,” then digs his own phone out of his pocket and waits for it to connect.  He hands the phone back and nods shyly.

“I'd like to take you to dinner, Kurt.”

“That'd be lovely.  Text me and we'll set something up.”

“Is tonight too forward?”

He hesitates, but quickly makes up his mind.  Now or never, Hummel.  “No.  Not at all.  Breadstix?”  He glances at his phone for the time. “6:30?”

“Where can I pick you up?”

“Oh!  No need, I'm a short distance from work to the restaurant.  See you then.”

He jumps at the vibrating phone in his hand, smiling down at the screen when Santana's face appears.  It's a funny picture and he remembers the day he took it like it was yesterday.  They both spent too long pushing their faces up against the glass at the Lima Bean to get perfect photos of each, appearing to be inside the phone when it was shown through.

“See you tonight, Sebastian.” 

He throws his phone to his ear and answers smugly, expecting Santana to make fun of him. “Go for Lady Lips Hummel who misses Lopez working at Coyote Ugly like white on rice.”

“Houston, we have a problem.”

“Santana?  What's wrong?”

“I need your help.”

xK&Bx

Kurt's car skids into place, sideways and half on the sidewalk directly in front of the courthouse.  He's already wasted enough time, practically throwing the four gallons of milk at Julie's face before explaining that he needed to go and to call him if anything.  He can almost feel the tires still moving under his feet as he jumps out and slams the door in the same motion, running around the front of the Navigator, skipping two steps at a time until he's successfully inside the courthouse and rushing through the low-budget security, attaching his cell to his ear until Santana answers.

They find each other; Kurt is a sweating hot mess, nervous and deranged.

“Santana!  Where is he?  He's okay?”

“He's fine.  I just… did you bring what I asked?”

“Yeah, yeah.  Of course.  He doesn't need to interview.”

“He has to, it's part of the paperwork.  Let's just get this over with.  I just hope he catches on quickly enough when we walk in.”

Santana produces the signed-by-her-boss forms of proof of Blaine's enrollment at McKinley High.  He's due to start Monday.  She professionally introduces Kurt to a clerk behind a glass-encased cubicle and she comes around to shake his hand.  She leads him to the holding room where Blaine is waiting again, and they enter with a badge.

“Kurt!”

Santana speaks up over Blaine.  They are so not supposed to know each other.  “Blaine, this is the owner of the Lima Bean downtown, Mister Kurt Hummel.  Kurt, this is Blaine Anderson.  He'll be interviewing for your open position of Barista today.”  She side eyes Blaine, in an effort to relay the message without obvious wording. 

Blaine looks at her, then to Kurt, and then to the police officer.  He blinks for a few seconds before the realization in his teenage brain clicks.  “Sir, do you mind… do you think that maybe you could un-cuff me so I can shake his hand?  If this is an interview, I'd like to try to make a decent first impression, despite the circumstances.”  He gazes around the dungeon of the room and rolls his eyes a bit, before settling on Kurt again, mouth twitching upward in the faintest smile, then back to the man with the key to his handcuffs.

The man peers over to the secretive window along the edge of the room, and nods to himself.

Blaine continues, “If my father's taught me anything, it's to be polite to a potential employer.”

“Sure, kid.  I guess so.”  Blaine stands for easier access, and he unlocks him out of his shackles.  He immediately rubs at his wrists and flexes them, in pain.

Kurt and Santana both stand there, jaws locked open in an “oh” shape.  Blaine really knows how to play up the rich prep school kid, and neither of them have seen this act before.  Kurt scoffs, hiding a giggle.  It's so weird to see Blaine like this.

Kurt's eyes shift to the boy's burgundy wrists.  He almost gets a tight feeling in his lower abdomen, imagining his own key unlocking Blaine, allowing his wrists to detach from the headboard, plummeting into post-orgasm bliss, resting on Kurt's chest and playing with his fingertips.  This is not the time for that, Hummel.

Blaine flails a hand toward Kurt, looking at him expectedly. 

Kurt turns to look at Santana then back to the angelic boy in front of him.  He smiles.  He takes Blaine's hand and cocoons it between both of his. 

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.”  Blaine sits and props himself up with perfect posture on the edge of his seat. Kurt follows suit and swallows.  He smiles again, trying not to puke up the inevitable sarcastic perspective he obtains when scared or nervous.

“So… I take it you like coffee.”

“The coffee at the Lima Bean is the best I've ever had.  I'm there quite a bit, you may have seen me there?”

Kurt blushes.  “I can't say that I have.”

Blaine nods and smiles.  “In any case, your white mochas are the best.”

Kurt's cheeks have permanently shaded into crimson red.  “Thank you.”

“You're welcome, pret- Kurt.”

“Okay guys, the interview questions.  Get to the interview questions.”  Santana pipes in; she wants this to be over before it even started.  She knows how Kurt is under the wrath of his nerves and especially near the authorities, but what other choice does she have?

“Right!  Have you…” He reads from a supplied piece of paper, “Have you ever worked a cash register?”

“I've been around money all of my life and I used to help my mother at her flower shop a little bit, yes.”  Lies.  Blaine decides that he will make anything up to seem like a perfect candidate so he can get out of here as soon as possible. 

“Very good.  What else?  Um, have you ever been arrested for larceny… Santana!  That's a stupid question!”  Kurt sweats, already having a feeling about this answer.

“Don't you want to know if your potential employee has ever stolen anything, Mr. Hummel?”  The detective that speaks up is clearly against releasing Blaine. 

Kurt only looks to Blaine.  “You don't have to-”

“Uh, yeah, I have.”

Kurt shrugs and looks back up to the professional with his hands on his hips.  “Honesty.  I like it.  Do you have open availability and a reliable means of transportation to get to and from work?”

“At the moment, my availability is completely open.  Assuming I'll be registering for school, per my parole officer, I'll have availability early mornings until whenever school starts, and also after school and weekends.  As for transportation, I only live a few miles from the shop, so getting there won't be a problem.  Unless my dad keeps me behind for one of his little inspiring talks.”  Blaine speaks directly to the window and, seemingly, the people that are standing behind it with arms folded and studying his body language.  He speaks clearly and articulately, as any prep school boy would.  Blaine seems so out of place in this dingy room with an ankle monitor attached and his life falling apart, having been arrested for the third time now before he's even eighteen.

Kurt sighs.  “I mean… I don't have any other questions.”  Kurt twists and looks up at Santana, “He's exactly what I need at the Lima Bean.”  He locks eyes with Blaine and Blaine's mouth twitches again.  The boy read that more than anyone else in the room had, which was Kurt's intention.  In the heat of the moment.  Without thinking rationally. 

“Very well.  As soon as we process the paperwork with the school and the Lima Bean, Blaine will be free to go.  I'll leave you three to schedule first days, then please come see me, Mr. Hummel, for your conditions for hiring a member of our delinquent system.  Ms. Lopez, please call me before you walk your client out and we'll assist you.  He can't leave this room without the cuffs.”

The three friends squint at the sound of the word, “delinquent,” and the harsh rules but Kurt finds his voice enough to ask a simple question.

“What does that mean?  What are the basics?”

“Well, similarly to a corporate review process, we'll be checking up on Blaine's performance every few weeks with you, as well as attendance.  We also may randomly check the schedule and drop in to make sure he is where you say he is.  He has to keep the job to stay out of trouble.  Essentially, you're helping us babysit him when we can't have eyes on him.  This is a new initiative to keep these kids off the streets.”

“Thank you.”  Kurt stands to shake the detective's hand and turns to Blaine and Santana when he leaves the room.

Blaine slouches into himself as soon as the detective leaves.  Santana rises and stands in the corner, pretending to respond to an email.

“Blaine.”  Kurt sits down across from him again.

“You're always saving me, pretty boy.”

“You're always found in bad situations.”

“Thank you.”  Blaine glances at Santana, who's head is bowed but her eyes are shifted up so she can watch them.  He reaches for Kurt's hands, folded on the table and brushes them over the knuckle.  He needs to feel.

Kurt flinches slightly but allows the boy to clench over his hands and they sit for a few seconds.  Kurt's brought back to the conversation all those weeks ago where his father said that Blaine will be arranging conjugal visits when he goes to prison for fucking him in the first place.  It hits home too hard and Kurt pulls away nervously.

He stands inelegantly. “San, we need to go to the detective's office, yes?  Blaine, if you're around tomorrow, I'll start training you then.  Okay?  Just text me what time we should expect you and I'll have Julie teach you everything.”

“You don't have to really hire me, Kurt.”

“You want to rot in here?”  Kurt flails his arms haphazardly, “I can't have that happen.  Welcome to the Lima Bean.”  He leaves Blaine feeling dizzy in his wake.

Santana and Kurt go through all of the necessary notions for Blaine to be released and they quickly find out that because he is still a minor, a parent or guardian must be called.  Kurt cannot hide his distaste for Blaine's father.  Kurt knows enough about their father-son relationship to know that Blaine will be in danger if Christian Anderson picks him up.  Santana and Kurt exchange a look, but Santana shrugs it off because she knows what he's thinking and there's not a damn thing she can do about who is authorized to pick the boy up.  The only other one allowed to help in this situation, Blaine's brother, is in California and that's too far to save his baby brother. 

“Kurt!  I mean… Mr. Hummel?”  Kurt's head snaps around toward the room next door separated by glass and finds Blaine with pleading eyes and white knuckles against metal bars.  Kurt looks back to the detective drawing up the paperwork with Santana for permission and when he nods his head and shrugs, Kurt approaches the holding cell.

“You can't be here when my dad comes.”  Blaine looks like he's about to cry and Kurt's not understanding why. 

“Ummm…”

“I may have… told him about… a boyfriend of mine that's several years older than me and he might assume I meant you… I mean… I sort of did, but only to piss him off.”

“We're not… did you tell him about-”

“No!  No.  But it's not safe for you to be here when he gets around to picking me up.”

“Well, it's not safe for you to go with him.  You'll start work tonight.”

“What?”

“I've got something going on tonight, but Julie's there and she'll train you.  I'll wait for you in the parking lot.  Let him sign you out or whatever and just find my car… um, a black Navigator, and I'll drive you back to work.  We'll even stay within your city limits.”  Kurt ends with a joke and a smirk, one of the many attempts at making sure Blaine is okay.

“Always saving me.”

“Always needing it.”  Kurt turns and smiles over his shoulder before approaching Santana with the new plan. 

xK&Bx

It works; Kurt glances to Blaine before he leaves the building and goes to sit in the car.  Santana waits for Blaine's father and introduces herself to him upon arrival.  Blaine is officially released and speeds out the door as fast as he can, his father trailing him and screaming at him to get in the fucking car.  Blaine ignores him, desperately searching for the black Navigator.  Kurt watches the scene and Blaine, who's running and slams into the passenger side of his car.  Kurt unlocks the door so Blaine can throw himself up and into the SUV.  Christian Anderson scowls at the car but can't do much more because he is among colleagues in broad view within the courthouse parking lot.  Kurt starts the car and pulls away, out of the parking lot, watching Christian Anderson turn red and punching the air in his rear view mirror.  They're silent for several minutes, save the quiet sing-along Kurt's having with a 90s song Blaine doesn't recognize.

“Exactly how I pictured him.  Your dad.”

“Whatever, he fucking sucks.”

“You're okay?”  Kurt looks over to Blaine and tilts his head.

“Fine.”

Kurt nods and the noise disappears again.  He parks shortly thereafter and they make their way, in silence, into the Lima Bean. 

“Kurt!  Is everything okay?  You practically sprinted out-”

“Everything is okay, Julie.  Hey, so I just hired Blaine.  Mind training him, finding him an apron and all of that?”

“Oh!  Sure!”  Julie grins at Blaine, exposing all thirty-two of her pearly white teeth.  Kurt smiles at the exchange, pats Blaine on the shoulder and lets his palm linger for a few seconds more than he should, and makes his way to the back room to gather some of his things before going upstairs to get ready for his date in two hours with Sebastian. 

xK&Bx

“Julie?”

“Yep?”  She peaks her head into the backroom and smiles.

“Text me if you need anything. I… have a date tonight.”  Kurt whispers so Blaine can't hear, and Julie squeals.

“Oh my God!  I will not bother you for anything!  I promise.”

“You can if you need to.”  He follows her out into the front.

“Okay, Kurt.”  She smiles at him.  “Should I lock up?”

“I'll probably be back.  Thank you, Julie.”

She salutes him and giggles.

“See you later, Blaine.  Good luck with this one, she's a real toughie.”

“Clearly.”  Blaine's sarcasm is dripping like diamonds.

“Bye guys.”  Kurt smiles and rushes upstairs to make himself pretty.
xK&Bx

Sebastian is leaned up against the wall next to the front door of Breadstix with a bouquet of lilies, only supported by his shoulder blades and one foot.  Kurt's been staring at him through his car window for three whole minutes, willing his courage and adrenaline up enough to get this date started.  It has been years, and he's admittedly nervous and uneasy about dating in general, even if Sebastian weren't as gorgeous as he is. 

He jumps to the ground and strolls over to Sebastian.

“Hey.”

Sebastian blushes.  “Hello.”  He extends his arms to hand off the flowers.  “For you.”

“Oh!  Thank you.”  Kurt replies, and goes in for a hug but Sebastian awkwardly kisses his cheek.

“Um.  We should…”  Sebastian opens the door and Kurt walks through. They sit in a booth toward the bar.  Kurt smiles and looks at Sebastian, who's sweating bullets destructive to the back of his shirt, Kurt's sure.  Blinking, he takes the menu from the waitress politely and starts to scan the offerings.

The silence is deafening, but when Kurt decides on grilled eggplant parmesan and closes his menu, he finds Sebastian shamelessly staring at his face.

“Hmmm, hey.”  There's a pause that feels like a year.  “Did you find the rest of your groceries easily?”

“Oh yeah!  So many sales today, I saved like seventy-five dollars!”

Kurt laughs politely, but he really doesn't want to be talking about grocery sales right now.

“So, what do you do when you're not shopping for food and phone numbers?”

Sebastian launches into a monologue of his life, hardly coming up for a breath.  He's a narcissist in a way that's completely unattractive to Kurt, and that's saying a lot because he knows Miss Rachel Berry, every-award-winning actress all over your television screen.  Kurt mentally records that he is a high school chemistry teacher at the very school he attended twelve years ago, and that he's part of a national science board that has him traveling twice a year to unimpressive areas of the Midwest and Mountain regions to judge fairs and projects and the nerdiest kids of America.  He seems happy in his work, and that's nice, but Kurt notes that he's also happy in his mediocrity.  His mind, as per usual, drifts to Blaine and starts to compare the two, not for the first time since this morning in the grocery store.  Blaine's physical features ultimately win, but not by a long shot.  Kurt knows he has a type; Sebastian's characteristics suggest that Blaine will almost be identical in a few years with slight differences in the hairline, jaw, and smile structure and, obviously, the eyes.  Where Blaine's eyes are kaleidoscopes to the point that Kurt admits to seriously pondering if it's even possible that the Beatles wrote the song with him in mind thousands of years ago, Sebastian's are a dull version of his own, not quite turquoise but comparable more to a steel grey.  Still very attractive, of course, but Kurt finds himself yearning for the eyes with forty-five different shades of green, gold, and chocolate.  Kurt notices that he knows next to nothing about Blaine Anderson in the weeks upon weeks he's known him, but seems to be ending with the life story of Sebastian whatever-his-last-name-is after twenty minutes of listening.  Kurt thrives in the mystery, in the challenge.  With every new story Sebastian tells, he is proving himself to be an open book, easy to figure out. 

If this were a competition, Blaine Anderson would win all the awards.

It's not a competition, though, so Kurt patiently waits for Sebastian to finish his meal through the elaborate chemistry-class-related stories of his students and seemingly boring life.  There's just not a click between the two men, despite the almost perfect age difference.  It's in this moment that Kurt realizes that age is just a number, after all, and he needed to go out with someone his own age to really understand that.  If he doesn't have a connection with his partner, whether he is seventeen or seventy, then what's the point anyway? He can't wait to get back to the coffee shop and have a much-needed talk with Blaine.

It's somewhere between a serious and genuinely opinionated conversation about true uses of nitrogen and the most recent journal entry Sebastian wrote toward a doctorate assignment about alternative fueling using no oxygen at all that Kurt snaps.  He sneakily starts playing a song from his iTunes collection, pretending it's actually a ringtone.  He hits stop and “texts,” waiting for a “reply,” apologizing profusely to Sebastian that he has to leave, and cuts the date abruptly short.  He throws a twenty down and mumbles a promise to call later to reschedule and whisks out of the restaurant, almost running toward the car.  It's only eight; he can go check on Blaine to see how he's doing in his training efforts at the coffee shop.