Chapter 4
Song used in this chapter:  The Lumineers – Ho! Hey!

July

As the days blend and each week continues as a monotonous lack of event, Kurt is satisfied to see hes secured an infatuating new regular customer in Blaine. Its now been just over a month since hes started coming in, and Kurt is still blown away by the mystery, this broken boy literally falling into his lap for him to put each piece together. He longs for moremoremore; there's no denying his feelings, especially since he can see the desire in Blaine's eyes as well.  Kurt watches the boy watch him conspicuously throughout his days, transparently mauling his way through an oversized prodigious project.  Kurt had observed the evident lack of school in this boy's life when it wasn't the summer, so maybe he takes night classes or is only studying for the sake of his brain not turning into mush during the break.

Kurt respects Blaines desire to have a habitual spot at the Carrie Table. He tries to determine if Blaine sat there because of the lyrics, or because it's the location most convenient to the door and condiment station.  Maybe Blaine chose this spot so he could scare some homophobic bitches away and they could finally live in peace, instead of pretending to love every single Ohioan even though they'd boycott his place if they weren't ignorant enough to realize Kurt's as gay as they come.

He takes note that Blaine doesnt prefer change to adaptability when he orders the same coffee and breakfast croissant (although varied between sweet and savory) after claiming his usual table every morning at exactly 9:05, or the same Turkey, Brie, and Cranberry mayo sandwich with a Green Tea Lemonade at 1:30 on the dot. He pays with a crisp twenty every morning. Kurt gives him back a ten and three singles, only to be reacquainted with the used and bruised ten every afternoon. Kurt returns two singles after his lunch purchases. Kurt knows the simple math; Blaine has five dollars left over daily, but does not use the change the following day, coming in with a fresh twenty daily.  Kurt naturally has a magnetic pull toward the broken boy and won't stop yanking him in until he's inseparable.  Blaine Anderson is a mystery staring him in the face. 

Kurt makes a pact with himself to follow Blaines lead when it comes to conversation, as much as he longs for words despite the first words weeks ago not being so pleasant. Kurts attracted to him, theres no doubt, but Blaine seemingly has not pushed to talk and this ruins Kurts self-esteem. He finds himself flustered and nervous, but excited and jittery in the best way possible every 9:05 and 1:30.  Making a point to be close enough in case today's the day that Blaine wants to talk, Kurt keeps plugging away every single uneventful day.

He is, rather uncharacteristically, spilling full gallons of milk, juggling them in an effort to catch them before catastrophe. Hes slamming metal canisters filled with coffee beans together recklessly, and he is scrambling to deliver orders in a timely fashion. He is not succeeding in deciphering the difference between several abbreviations on the paper cups from his employees, even though he is the significant deal breaker on what each letter means. Hes not ordering enough coffee on Monday afternoons to get the shop through the following weekend, and he is truly slacking on every aspect of his business all because hes nervous in the presence of this other boy. Kurt is flustered and uneasy around him, and considering hes made the Lima Bean his own personal library, Kurt troubles himself to at least try to act normal around Blaine.

Kurt Hummel is officially distracted.

Its 1:27 and Kurt is sitting at his desk in the back room. He is chewing on his pen reading over an email request from his favorite employee, Julie, about vacation time for the fifteenth time. Shes written something along the lines of "Dont blame me if my parents just want to celebrate my existence by taking me to Hawaii for two weeks, Kurt, but that also means Ill be out of work for that time." Kurts eyes keep getting stuck on "blame" and his mind wanders to the Goldschläger eyes; the ribbon of bells attached to his door he yearns to hear again, the short but stacked stature.  Kurt's mind drifts back to those eyes; Blaine literally has gold specks floating in his eyeballs.

Kurt tries to concentrate on the email response log as best he can, but finds the laptop slammed shut, the chair harshly pushed out from under him, and suddenly hes behind the pastry case within the store patiently awaiting 1:30 on the dot.

At 1:30, eyes meet Blaines when he approaches and waits one person deep in line. Its not terribly busy, but busy enough for a consistent flow.  Blaines pencil is tucked on top of his ear and his brow is furrowed in deep thought before he rips his eyes away from Kurt and lands on the sandwiches. In the aftermath of the way Blaine looks at him, Kurt could not announce the color of the sky or the particular day of the week it is right now.

As if Blaine actually needs to think about which sandwich hell choose, he stares into the selection like theyre about to put on a show. Kurt fights Julie to take over the register as Blaine rummages through until he finds his usual, balances it between his arm and pit while he switches it up and grabs a water bottle. This throws Kurt, and he has to void his proactive ringing into the register, a bit flustered and too concentrated on the buttons and the ring of the machine. His finger slips three times until he's slamming his pointer against the key, but then looks to Blaine with expectation of some sort of explanation for the switch from green tea to just water.

The boy reads his mind. Blaine clears his throat nervously. "Umm… I think theres too… too much sugar in your shaken tea lemonade."

Kurt raises an eyebrow with a smirk.

Blaine continues, "Im constantly on a hyper insane run-around-the-neighborhood-at-full-speed rush after I leave here every day and I just figured out that its probably that stuff."

"It probably is.  It's pretty sweet." Kurt stares at Blaines features, drinking him in, gulping so hard hes bursting at the seams.

Blaine nods.  “It'd be a travesty if I got diabetes and had to sue the owner for insulin money.  I'm doing both of us a favor.”

“Well that would be me.  So, thanks for not sending me to bankruptcy, I guess.”

Blaine is a beautiful boy, with amber eyes and a black ring around the color. They stand out prominently in an effort to bore every person into them; they're slanted at a small angle, not quite enough to be fully pan-Asian but probably a sliver of Asian descent. His nose is a little too European for the rest of his face, and his cheeks meet his rigid jaw line, and that shape should actually be illegal, or at the very least come with a warning.  His mouth is lined with red lips as though he's wearing gloss instead of saliva, and his tongue shoots out regularly to keep them wet.  His mess of curly, black hair is exactly the haircut Kurt would have asked for in his dream lover, and his short and stout stature turns Kurt on like no other for reasons he hasn't had the effort to think about. He's muscled, Kurt thinks, but he definitely doesn't work out all day every day and the amount of croissants he eats gives him a little pouch. He's cute, which makes him adorable, which makes him hot, which makes him out-of-this-world sexpot delicious.

Blaine jerks his head in whats supposed to be a nod, shrugs with one shoulder, and shoves the usual ten-dollar bill at Kurt. They fail miserably to make any eye contact, although they are both actively trying. Kurt accepts the money and the curse/blessing of Blaine's outstanding eyes, and makes the change before handing him a few napkins and a plastic knife.

"Thanks."

"Thank you."

***

Well, damn. That was intense.

Blaine pulls his meal into his hands and turns to make his way back to the table, effectively building up his walls again with each step.  He unwraps and separates his sandwich to spread the cranberry mayo a bit more evenly than the maker might have preferred this morning. He is starving. He sighs into his bite and glances up to catch Kurt watching him. He stalls his chomp, grasping the baguette and its insides within his mouth for a few seconds, and locks eyes with Kurt. At Kurts refusal to turn away for the first time ever, Blaine subtly nods to the empty chair across from him. Kurt responds by nodding once for no one but Blaine to see and holding up his pointer to signify "one minute" or "hang on a second" before disappearing into the back.

In this moment, Blaine wants to just let go. He wants to break down the walls hes built up for the sole purpose of avoiding the sharing of his secrets. He wants to load off his secrets with Kurt; he feels like he's known him forever.  He talks himself out of it though, in an effort to keep Kurt close.  He figures hes let down enough walls for today by simply inviting him over. He'll try to progress further if this goes well.

To mask his eagerness of Kurts return, and ultimately his conversation with Kurt, he scans the room with a mouth full of bread. Only because it was already in his mouth before the unspoken agreement that they should sit together for lunch, Blaine takes one bite of his sandwich before he places it back on the packaging and waits, staring at the limp lettuce. His tongue slides across his teeth to ensure there is no reminisce of lettuce or cranberry string or turkey skin, or the super unattractive glob of bread ball that sometimes gets stuck between his two front teeth. He takes a quick sip of water and swishes a bit to loosen any food in his teeth and pops a piece of gum from the front pocket of his messenger bag onto the flat of his tongue and chews rapidly, like its a race to the finish line to see Kurts eyes staring into his own. He straightens his pile of books into a stack thats barely noticeable, and pushes it to the corner farthest away from where he assumes Kurt might sit. He stares at the books, turns them from horizontal to vertical, in an effort for everything to be perfect, then back to horizontal before giving up and dropping them into his messenger bag and placing the bag on the empty seat next to him. To further distract himself from the minutes, hours, years Kurt has him waiting, he forces the water bottle into a series of counterclockwise pirouettes, trapped between his hands and getting dizzy. He focuses on the beauty of the blur as the cap swirls too fast, then ganders on as it plunges to the ground in the slowest of motions. He watches it go without reaction until it's too late. He blinks and bends to retrieve it from under the table, but it rolls and wedges itself tightly under the condiment station, just an inch out of his reach. Blaine is on all fours in an attempt to pull it out of a space that is somehow too thin for his forearm, but thick enough for an entire bottle of water. "What th-the… how the hell… motherfucker…" Blaine mumbles to himself and kicks back up to sit his ass on his heels, perplexed and unsuccessful in reclaiming the bottle. He feels Kurt watching him, and it takes everything in him to forget about it for a minute. He wipes the bead of sweat off his forehead, because apparently this task exerts him like its the first lap of a fucking marathon. He tilts his head at the space that ate his water bottle, and it looks like hes putting a spell on it to show itself at once. He bounces back up on his feet, pats his pocket to make sure he has his wallet, and grabs a new bottle of water just as he sees Kurt there, watching him intently like he's prey and Kurt is really hungry. He stops his world to watch him make his first step toward Blaine.

"Blaine." He hears from behind him. He turns at the unfamiliar voice and finds none other than Santana fucking Lopez standing there with a hand on her hip and her phone to her ear before she snaps out of it and ends the call, presumably trying to get in touch with him moments before. He sneaks a glance at his silently blackened iPhone. She still has the old number. 

He snaps into a scowl and tries to literally strangle her with only the force of his eyes.  Fuck this stalker bitch, who the hell does she think she is? 

***

Kurt barrels into the employee restroom and locks the door with a flick of his wrist. The water is running at full blast, and he pushes his palms against the edge of the sink. He gazes at himself in the mirror and shoots a model-smile in the sexiest way he knows how. Kurt is convinced he is the unsexiest specimen ever to walk this earth, despite his confidence that first time he and Blaine spoke, and hes never thought of himself as someone who would deserve a partner to spend his life with, or even a quick lay and pillow talk. He shakes himself out of it; all Blaine did was invite him over for a conversation, not to marry him and pick a surrogate.  He groans loudly from the back of his throat and stomps his foot. Is it childish if no one witnesses the action? If a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound? Why wont these feelings go away? He examines his face in the mirror.

Kurt has a long, curling list of imperfections he could pick out about himself at the drop of a dime, in a world where he just wants to feel beautiful, wants to prove he can be beautiful. More than that, he wants someone else to acknowledge him as beautiful. But then again, he must be a mess, since no one in the world wants him, or ever really did with the exception of one very abusive man for a few years. He doesnt allow his mind to drift to Blaine, not really, because the unspoken connection they seem to have is just too much right now. Kurt knows nothing about him and yet cant stop thinking about him.  Holding his ground and not speaking until hes spoken to has been the most frustrating feat that Kurt has ever put himself through, especially because the subject in question was Blaine.  Blaine, in all his glory, who clearly doesn't feel this way about Kurt.  Kurt concludes he holds the control to make sure he can still feel. He collapses to the floor in one fluid movement, and sobs over the soft music overheard from the speakers in the main room of the coffee shop.

Ive been trying to do it right
Ive been living a lonely life
Ive been sleeping here instead
Ive been sleeping in my bed
Ive been sleeping in my bed.

Several minutes are lost forever, and he must regulate his breathing and face the cynical reaction his brain is screaming of the first true conversation with the boy he knows nothing about but wants to experience everything with.  I want everything with you.  He stares at his own face and breaks the glare before he can count to thirty, takes a long breath in and exhales, pulling the door open and striding back into the main room of his establishment. He starts to march to Blaines table, pausing to watch him struggle to retrieve something from under one of the counters. He tilts his head, enjoying the bent over view, the bubble of the boy's ass. The ribbon of bells announces a customer. As any polite business owner, he turns to greet the newcomer, who's already talking to… Blaine?

“Get the fuck out of my fucking face, slut!”  It's all he hears, but Kurt needs to save… one or both of them from the altercation.

"Santana?" Kurt nearly screams his ex-roommates name, in a screech of an octave he probably should be ashamed of.  "What the hell are you doing here?" He runs, no, he sprints to her side and wraps his arms around her tightly so he can prevent what shell do next, pulling her away from Blaine so as not to throw a punch.  She squirms away like its a bullfight and crosses her arms, allowing the corners of her mouth to ascend to heaven just a little bit.

"Hummel. Im working. Please, for the love of God, keep it professional. Youre going to scare the kid Im hunting away."

"I dont care what youre doing! Youre here! What are you doing here? Why are you in Lima? It's only been a few weeks, but why are you here now?  Did you move back!  Do you still live in the city?  Wait, youre working? You hunt children? Does that mean you moved home? Oh my God, tell me everything."  Kurt is transformed into a happier version of himself, his college self.  He knows hes rambling. He takes her hand in both of his and walks her over to the counter.

It's only been since this year's Finn Memorial that Kurt saw Santana last.  They tend to keep in touch the most out of the whole group, in between graduation days.  This is why he's most surprised to see her live and in living color, standing in the middle of the Lima Bean without any prior announcement.

He pulls her closer to the counter.  "Get this little gem anything she wants. Anything!" Leaving Blaine in the dust, completely ignoring his existence, he points at Julie behind the cash register and nods enthusiastically toward Santana. "Anything you want!"

“You already had what I want.”  There's a beat.  Santana smirks.  “Wanky.”

Kurt laughs from his belly, possibly for the first time in months upon months.  His eyes shift into Blaine's direction and sighs when he sees him seething, staring out into nothing and seated once again in his usual chair.

Santana rolls her eyes then grazes up Kurts forearm as a hint of affection and orders a coffee and grabs a pre-packaged Caesar salad, glancing over her shoulder at Blaine, shooting him an "Im watching you" glare before focusing on Kurts interrogation.

“So, what's going on?  Are you doing okay?”  Santana takes a sip of her latte, obsessively perfect thanks to Kurt's strict espresso artistry training, spread throughout all of his minions.

“I'm fine.  Actually, better.  I feel like maybe this is the year that everything will change?”

“This could definitely be the year, Hummel.  It's about time.  And besides, we can be real-life friends again since I'm here to stay for awhile.  I can walk you through it.”

Kurt rolls his eyes.  It's good to have Santana back.

***

Blaine analyzes the entire exchange between Kurt and Santana. Of course they fucking know each other, God dammit. Theyre laughing together, and Kurts laugh is captivating.

Blaine replaces his retired water and slams his sandwich in a race to the finish. He pockets his phone and gathers the few dollars that are partially overlapping the lyrics on the table and shoves them crinkled in his wallet. He grabs his messenger bag and prepares to go. He cannot befriend, romance, fuck his parole officers best fucking friend; this is ridiculous.

He feels like such a damn failure for wanting Kurt like that.  There's nothing he can do about it, except distance himself until the constant hard on deflates or he stops thinking so much… or something.  Something's gotta give.  Blaine wearily approaches the pair and stands behind them, kicking at the invisible scuff on the floor with his eyes trained to his feet. Kurt must have a sixth sense entirely dedicated to Blaines actions because he turns around with hardly a second to spare.

"Blaine." Kurt's voice is surprisingly calm, collected, and actually charming.  Blaine looks to Kurt's face and there's a look of pity.  Of course, Kurt must feel bad for me.

Blaine straightens and cocks an eyebrow, definitely not for the last time in his life.  "I gotta go.” He nails in the last of the foundation to his newly rebuilt walls. Soft cant be part of him.  His face distorts into a disguise. His disgusting mood swing is in full effect. "I cant concentrate with you guys loving all over each other or whatever the fuck this is.  Aren't you umm… fuck." He gestures between them with a scowl plastered on his top lip, like he can't stand either one of them, but really the words are said for the sake of shock value. Reality serves it up on a silver platter of difference; Kurts outburst is adorable.

Kurt raises his eyebrow.

“What is it that you're asking, Blaine?”

“Do you enjoy the company of other men?”  Santana reads Blaine's mind and laughs.  “You know, Kurt.  You should answer him.  Are you gay?”

Kurt blinks and shifts his eyes anywhere but directly in front of him where Blaine is standing.  His reaction to the question is obvious in his blush.  "What is it that you do over there all day, anyway?"

"None of your fucking business, pretty boy. Maybe I should come in the back door in the morning so we can get down to business straight away?  Every time you speak, I can't help but wonder what your mouth would feel like wrapped around my cock.  Clearly, I… enjoy the company of other men too.”  Blaine is jealous that Santana knows Kurt better than he does.  They're probably fucking, regardless of orientation.

Santana blinks, still watching them as she takes her coffee from the barista slowly, eyes shifting between the two.

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Good for you.  You know what, Blaine?  You can call me whatever you want. Ive heard it all. Nothing you say to me is going to make you feel better about your life.” Kurt looks at him, sighs in a way that suggests defeat, and looks to his feet.  He looks back up at him.  “Go home, Blaine.”

“No!  Don't go home, Blaine.  I need to talk to you!”  Santana pipes in, smirking because she knows she's nothing but a side note in this conversation.

“I'm just a poor little rich boy with daddy issues on the run from something that can't possibly be as bad as I'm hoping.  You don't know me, faggot."  Blaine shivers at his own use of that word.

His eyes soften for a millisecond, regretting his decision to say it outloud.  He hears it every single day, it shouldn't have come as such a shock.  It's another bullet point on the grand list of Why Blaine Anderson Should Hate Himself.  “Fuck.”

Kurt's face shows more emotion than Blaine's seen from his family in years.  He's hurt, offended.  Only by looking at his face, Blaine knows that Kurt is trying to hold his breath so he can will himself from breaking down and sobbing right in front of everyone.

Blaine steps to him and extends the muscles on the bottom of his feet so he can appear taller.  He steps closer so that he's in Kurt's face, forcing Kurt to lift his head and stare into his eyes.  Their lips are inches away, and both can't help but offer a glance to the area.  They are both searching for a hint of anything to back down from.

"You. Know. Nothing. About. Me. Kurt." Through gritted teeth, he examines him again, scanning his eyes from the tip of his hair to the bottom of his feet in what he hopes is somewhat intimidating. Kurt cowers into himself, defeated, a particular glint shining in his eye that may be the beginning stage of tear shed. Blaine knows, now, that he has the upper hand. "Who the fuck do you think you are, huh? Making me wait an eternity to say two words to you, and then just ignoring me when your little stiletto whore walks through the door?" Blaine steps off. "You cant tell me that you dont feel this, Kurt." He whispers the last part, like a secret.  He's not sure if Kurt hears it at all.

He repositions his bag that slipped off his shoulder at some point. "Whatever.  Fuck both of you.  Don't try to find me, I'm gone." He huffs and escapes the coffee shop, the slightest hint of tears in his own eyes for reasons unknown. He collapses into the chair overlooking the sidewalk outside and slams the balls of his palms into his forehead and breathes.

Santana is right behind him and sits across from him.

“What's going on, Blaine?” He doesn't answer. “Please talk to me. I know I'm hired help, but I'm here to help only you. I'm on your side.”

“No one is on my side, Lopez.  Fuck off.”

He pushes the chair out from under him and starts in on the familiar journey back to the house, dreading the possibility of his parents being there; it's earlier than usual and Blaine is terrified. He turns back after about a hundred paces and sees Santana calmly sitting with her back against the chair, gaping back at him in what appears to be shock. She must be new at this whole “shepherding bad boys” career.

***

It turns out that his parents aren't home. He doesn't really give a shit where they are. He loves that he's not smothered like every other teenager he used to know, but he probably wouldn't have been locked into an ankle monitor if they were around more.

Blaine casually fumbles into the foyer and throws his bag on the floor and his keys in the bowl. He stalks to the kitchen and juggles a can of Coke before retreating to the family room to catch up on whatever crap was recorded on the DVR.

He takes a shot or two directly from the bottom of his dad's half empty Jack Daniels sitting on a shelf.  There seem to be half-empty bottles around a lot more lately.  Washing it down with a sip of coke, Blaine decides that nothing's better than drinking (and crying) alone. 

It has always been hilarious that the Andersons frequented the family room. The main television is here and the bookshelves are full of classics and modern works of every genre imaginable. There are piles of board games, exclusively saved for the next family night. They havent had a family night in twelve years.

Blaine sighs and hops over the back of the couch into his spot, but unfortunately lands straight on top of his brother, who is napping with a book folded on his chest.

"What the actual fuck, man?" Cooper is startled awake and folds his body upward in defense. Blaine chuckles, but his hearts not in it.  Oops.

"Get the fuck out of my face, Coop.  Why the hell are you here?” He climbs off of him and settles for the other side of the couch, pulling one of the throw pillows behind him.

Cooper studies him carefully.  "Whats up with you, baby bro?"

"Leave me alone."

"Blaine… why are you acting out?  Last time I was home, I had to bail you out or whatever, and now you're angry, why?  I'm here because you need-”

"Shut the fuck up, Cooper! It's none of your fucking business, Im just counting down the days until Im eighteen and then I can get the fuck out of here and never talk to any of you assholes again!"  He takes a swing at his brother, who stops his fists midway.

"Blaine… I didn't do any-”

"Fuck off!" Blaine shoots up and paces the length of the bookshelf, then runs upstairs and slams the door.

"Bro!" Cooper knocks on the door rapidly, not giving up any time soon regardless of how much of a master Blaine is at ignoring people and problems he doesn't want to face. "We gotta talk about this, man. Why are you so fucking pissed off at the world all of a sudden?  It's been months since we've talked at all and I'm really worried about you."

Blaine listens to his brother's pleading for a few minutes longer before he surrenders.  He unlocks the door; hes so tired.  He cant deal with this shit anymore.  He lets one tear go, and then they are flooding out of his eyes like the damn Panama Canal.  He throws himself on his mattress face down, suffocating in the plush of the pillow.

"Dad's drinking is worse than I can remember."

Cooper looks at him, tilts his head, and engulfs him in a tight hug from behind. Cooper knows exactly what this means because he remembers every single time their father has advanced to the next level of alcoholism and the beatings were not fun.

***

"How the hell do you know Blaine Anderson?" Santana takes a sip and stares at Kurt, fully expecting an answer.

"Is that why you're here? How the hell do you know Blaine Anderson?"

"Hes the kid Im chasing. My newest… um, project." Kurt raises an eyebrow. Hes not sure he wants to know, so he lets it go for right this second. Kurt learns something new every day. Today, it's that the six degrees of separation exists and it's absolutely glorious.  Although maybe it's under the wrong circumstance, Kurt finds himself relieved that he and Blaine have someone in common. 

The conversation breaks into the general catch-up and they reminisce the past.  Santana is home because, like Kurt, everyone runs out of money after living in New York. Her moving home might have had something to do with the fact that there was a solid state job that showed its face so she accepted without really thinking. Now that her first month of work is under her belt, she can breathe and make herself known back in Lima and to any old friends that remain here. So far, shes only reacquainted with Kurt. She's pretty confident that he's the only one left here anyway.  Even so, she's happy she ran into him and can rekindle the friendship she's missed.

"So the kid comes in here every day?"

"Yep, like clockwork. 9:05 until 3. Hes been working on this project or something and only gets up to eat and pee. Keeps to himself." He shrugs, trying to play it cool.

He breaks.

“He is a complete mystery and the exchange you witnessed earlier was kind of the first real one weve ever had.” With words. “Besides like coffee orders and stuff."

"He's probably studying for his GED.”  She ponders. “Hes a baby, Hummel." She counters, a little concerned but happy he might be finally letting go of the past boys that used and abused him back in New York.  “Seventeen.”

"I didnt know that.  He's seventeen?" This requires a lot more thought than I'm able to do in front of Santana right now.

"You want to get to know him for me?"

"What?" Yes. No, I can't.  Seventeen means jailtime, doesn't it?  "San, hes seventeen!"  Oh my God, he's seventeen.

"Obviously, but I didnt mean like that.  Obviously you did if that's where your brain went first, though.”  She wiggles her eyebrows and continues.  “I meant… hook me up and give me some juice on him. I need to get him back into school and he needs to get a job and I need to have something on him so I can make a strategy out of this hot mess.  I need to blackmail him back into the conditions he's required.”

Kurt shrugs, feeling uneasy of possibly betraying the boy's trust. "Hes not in school?"

Of course hes not in school, you idiot, hes at the shop every single day. But it's summer so who the hell knows.  Fuck!

Santana shakes her head.  “What part of GED did you not understand, Lady Lips?”

Kurt ignores the old nickname.  "And its your job to get him back in school?"

"And keep him out of jail. He's been arrested like three times.  Make sure he doesnt go past his four-mile mark otherwise his ankle monitor will beep and embarrass the hell out of him until the cops track him and arrest him again.  Keep him from stealing. You know, the usual.”

Ankle monitor?  “You are a probation officer.”

She nods with a smirk.

Kurt laughs.  “I can actually see it. That job fits you.”

“I'm a badass, right?”

He hums his acknowledgement.

“The first thing you have to do for me is get his new number.”

Kurt knows Blaines situation is complicated, whatever it is. He knows that he has walls up that he never wants to break down, but hes seen the hole in the wall on two different occasions now, and he knows the walls could crumble because his very own crumbled with a few people in his own life way back in high school.  He thinks that the real Blaine is the Blaine that works diligently on his studying, with the furrowed eyebrow and sincere concentration. The real Blaine is not the filthy language or the black eyes and cuts in his cheek. Kurt has to get through to this kid; he has to help.  If that means fake-flirting with a teenager to help Santana help him, then that's simply the first step.

***

Blaine throws a curve ball and doesn't show up the next day. Kurt is entranced in different storylines of what could have possibly happened for Blaine to break his routine, but does not know how to approach the act of finding him. He knows nothing about Blaine, besides the fact that he comes here, and now that he's on probation and could only be within four miles of… somewhere. As the next day and the day after that passes, Kurt is convinced that he is just not coming back. Kurt had good intentions, and that's all that matters now.  But Kurt curses himself for being thisclose to having something that could make him feel good again, but eventually decides that the show must go on.   Still, he snaps his head in the door's direction with every jingle and continues to be disappointed when each customer is not Blaine, but only a middle-aged woman in search for a caramel macchiato. 

Kurt is repulsed by the knowledge of Blaine's age. Realizing he is eleven years his senior, Kurt shutters as he works through different scenarios in his head. He realizes that he graduated high school when Blaine was probably learning how to read and color within the lines. When Kurt was graduating college, Blaine was worrying about how many friends he might make in middle school, and going through the dreadful years of puberty and experiencing his first wet dream.  It feels like it's too much, and Kurt would not be able to stop thinking about eleven years with everything that they may do together. Kurt is freaking out.  It would never work.

Kurt groans loudly and Julie glances at him in question. He waves her off and heads to the back room, making sure she knows where he's going. He sits at his desk in front of his laptop and types out Google's URL address.  He stares at the blinking cursor in the search bar for a full minute before slamming the laptop shut, wailing like he's in pain.  The statutes of limitations when it comes to statutory rape do not matter.  He is not having sex with Blaine.  Ever.  Even if it was legal, which it's not, it's socially unacceptable and Kurt Hummel does not do socially unacceptable.  He's too much of a taboo already.

What the hell am I doing?

“This is stupid.”  He says to no one.

Kurt laughs at himself, shaking his head, and gets on with his work.