'I'm going to make a lot of money, then I'm going to quit this crazy scene.'

That night after dinner Kurt went to sit on the garden bench in his yard with a mug of peppermint tea. When he'd moved to Ainslie he'd harboured quite a few plans to immerse himself in the productive lifestyle of the town. He'd imagined preserving and baking and growing and tending. Trying something new. Assimilating himself a little. As it was, he'd accomplished far more baking than he'd ever anticipated, but had only really managed to cultivate the fresh mint that steeped in his nightly drink, growing it in several pots by his back step.

In company, he put this abject failure down to shortage of spare time. He was constantly working for Rachel, he couldn't possibly tend garden on top of that responsibility. The honest reason, however, and a reason he would never confide, was his solitary life, and his latent fear of the dissatisfaction he'd feel in providing for himself and himself alone. With no one there to chat lazily to whilst he watered the plants, or to share the spoils of a harvest, he simply lacked the motivation. It was possible even just having the most platonic of housemates would have sufficed, but unfortunately that was yet another item to add to Kurt's list of things he found himself lacking.

He'd been sitting cradling his mug for a short while, when again he became aware of distant music drifting down the river to meet him. This time he could distinguish the keening strains of a violin joining the drums and thin ghostly voices. Blaine and his three friends, busking without an audience. Every now and then he even thought he could make out the tone of Blaine's voice in particular, mellow and crooning, and he tipped his head back and inhaled the pleasant dank scent of the river bank as he strained his ears.

Early the next morning Kurt walked to work through the town, frankly not giving a second thought to the travellers and their boat. He worked until midday, alternating baking with Finn, and serving with Rachel, completely unaware that the unfamiliar tune that was persistently circling around his brain was in fact the same one he'd overheard the night before.

At lunch time Rachel shooed him out of the shop with two loaves of bread under his arm ('I probably baked these Rachel, sorry if it's not the most exciting gift I've ever received') and further orders for him to 'get out and live his life.'

He proceeded to make his way down to the river path on auto-pilot, half-heartedly contemplating in which way he should spend his unanticipated free time. He unenthusiastically supposed he'd just end up cleaning the house a little bit, or cooking some food for the week. Maybe get through a couple of pages of a book. Nothing exciting. Nothing new. Just the unfortunately necessary daily motions of life as he knew it.

It wasn't until the old jetty came into view that the memory of the previous afternoon flooded back to him. He immediately spied Blaine, sitting alone on the wooden planks, staring intently at his own hands. Only when he grew closer did Kurt realise that Blaine was busy plaiting one of his leather bracelets, much like the one that was circling his own wrist. Blaine had the ends of the three strands caught in the toes of his bare feet as his deft fingers swiftly wove them into one long string. He was humming quietly as he worked, the same battered fedora nestling on his head, and a white singlet stretched over his torso. Even from a distance Kurt could make out a fine dusting of freckles on his shoulders, several shades darker than the fawn of his lean arms, clearly not a stranger to the touch of the sun.

As Kurt watched, Blaine tied off the end of the finished product and held it up to his eyes to inspect, catching sight of Kurt, still ten or so metres away. He smiled expansively and raised an arm above his head to wave.

"Kurt!"

"Hi." He called back, surprised at how glad he was to see him.

"You busy?" Blaine asked.

Kurt thought of his empty cottage and his dull list of errands, "Not really."

"Come keep me company." He patted the slats next to him.

Kurt halted at the end of the pier, eager yet hesitant, "I don't want to disturb you…" He said timidly.

Blaine laughed, "You're really not. I was about to take a break anyway. My boss gives me a half hour for lunch."

Kurt raised an eyebrow, "Your boss?"

"Mm, his name's Blaine." He smirked, "The guy's a slavedriver."

Kurt snorted and shook his head minutely, finally relenting and walking to stand in front of Blaine, his work shoes resonating hollowly on the wood, a different sound with every step.

"Well, sit down." Blaine beckoned, "It looks like you're already covered in flour, a little dirt's not going to hurt."

Kurt glanced down at his trousers, dusted with subtle evidence of his vocation. He brushed at his right thigh feebly with the back of his hand, unaccountably self-conscious.

"Come on." Blaine insisted, blinking up at him through thick lashes, delightfully naïve and trusting. A blank canvas of a gaze that welcomed him without question. Childlike and rare. Even in the tight knit flock of Ainslie Kurt couldn't recall ever receiving such an indiscriminately friendly look.

He lowered himself, placing his loaves of bread on the ground and folding his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them resting his chin on his knees.

Blaine watched him settle, then asked, "Have you eaten?"

"No, not yet"

Blaine sprung to his feet, "Then you can eat with me."

Kurt spluttered, stunned at his hospitality, "No really, I'm fine."

"Shh!" Blaine hissed, waving him down, "Stop that. I'll be right back."

He trotted down the pier and onto the boat, ducking his head (though not very far, Kurt noted) as he disappeared into the low cabin. He emerged a moment later toting a plate and two apples, dropping down cross-legged in front of Kurt. He reached into the back pocket of his shorts, extracting a pocket knife, which he opened and proceeded to neatly quarter and core the fruit with. The soft hiss and crack of metal cleaving fragrant skin and flesh. From where Kurt sat he could see the bare soles of Blaine's feet. Dark and dusty and oddly comforting.

Blaine popped a small piece of apple between his lips, and gestured to the slices accumulating on the plate, "Help yourself." He mumbled through the mouthful.

"Thanks." Kurt smiled, taking a dainty bite, swallowing, then asking, "Where are your friends?"

"Looking for work. They've gone into town to see if there are any jobs available, then they'll probably head out to a couple of farms. See if anyone needs any labourers."

"On foot?" Kurt asked incredulously.

"We're not exactly strangers to wandering." Blaine shrugged.

"So, is that what you do? Travel from town to town and take work where you can get it?"

"Pretty much." Blaine closed the knife and stretched his legs out, reclining as if the hard ground were in fact a lavish chaise, cheek propped on his closed fist, "It doesn't always go to plan though. If we like the place, we might stick around and busk a little, but we usually just move on."

Kurt raised an eyebrow, "You can survive on the change you get from busking?"

"Just. We don't only play music. Tina dances, I have my jewellery." Blaine pointed to Kurt's wrist, beaming, "I see you're wearing your bracelet?"

"Oh, yeah." Kurt reflexively moved his opposite hand to toy with the strands of leather, "I got a few compliments for it too."

"Good to hear." Blaine smirked, "Anyway, we get enough from selling those to afford food. Sometimes we're lucky and we arrive at a town when there's a market or a carnival, and Brittany or I set up a stall for henna tattoos. That's tends to be a hit."

"Brittany?" Kurt asked.

"She's the blonde." He explained, "She has a much better eye for the tattoo's than I do. Maybe she can give you one some time."

"Hm, maybe…" Kurt said noncommittally.

"Or I could give you one." Blaine offered, "I could use the practice."

"I'm not sure how I feel about being your guinea pig for temporary tattoos." Kurt grinned.

"You should feel honoured! I rarely do anything for free."

"Sure." Kurt snorted, picking up a piece of apple and turning it in his fingers, the edges of it already oxidising, a brown tinge to its previously snowy hue. He hesitated, then ventured, "So, is she your girlfriend?"

Blaine furrowed his brow, "Who? Brittany?" He laughed, "No. No, I can't imagine what it'd be like living with those three on that boat if any of us dated. It's a bit of a strain for us as it is. Besides, I'm gay." He added casually.

"Oh." Kurt chirped. This incredibly open man who wasn't exactly hard on the eye, also happened to be gay. He bit his bottom lip while his mind screamed no big deal.

"Oh?" Blaine repeated, cocking an eyebrow.

"Nothing." Kurt started, "Just… so am I."

"Isn't that interesting?" Blaine said, tone neutral and expression passive.

"Yeah…" Kurt scratched the back of his neck, looking at his feet.

"Got a boyfriend?" Blaine asked. His delivery of the query was nonchalant, but Kurt couldn't help but feel a small, pleasant rush in his stomach.

"I already told you I was single."

"No, you told me you didn't have a girlfriend." Blaine pointed out, "So, you are single?"

"Very single." Kurt droned.

Blaine chuckled, a calming deep sound, "I didn't realise there were different levels of 'single.'"

"Oh, there are." He said earnestly.

"And your level?"

"Right now? I'm thinking permanent hiatus."

"Why?" Blaine asked, with what Kurt hoped was genuine interest.

"I thought that was obvious." He picked at the aged wood beneath him with a fingernail, "There aren't a great deal of suitors to choose from in Ainslie." He paused, "Actually, I don't think there are any."

"Well, that's a crying shame." Blaine smiled warmly.

"It doesn't bother me that much." Kurt mumbled, ignoring the fact that it bothered him quite a bit.

"No, not the lack of suitors." Blaine added, "It's a shame that you're single."

"Oh." Kurt said again, unsure what Blaine had meant by the open ended statement, "Okay."

"Then again…" Blaine said cryptically, adjusting his hat with one hand, "Maybe it's not that bad."

Kurt had no idea how to reply. Blaine's manner hadn't really grown any more genial than it had been before he knew Kurt was gay, yet he got the distinct feeling he was being flirted with. He'd almost forgotten such an act existed.

Blaine sat up, crossing his legs again, "So what do you do?" He eyed Kurt slowly, head to toe. An intimate gaze that made his palms sweat. "Chef? Cook? Chef impersonator?"

Kurt couldn't help but laugh, "God, these stupid uniforms!" He plucked at the knee of his trousers, "I work at a bakery in town for a woman with far too vivid an imagination. Either that or she genuinely thinks this is how bakers dress."

Blaine smiled, "You do kind of look like you belong on a packet of cookies."

"Gee, thanks." Kurt scowled, poking his tongue out.

"I'd buy them." Blaine teased, laughing and cringing away as Kurt swatted his ankle. When he seemed sure Kurt wasn't about to strike him, he indicated the two loaves of bread, "Did you make those?"

"Possibly." Kurt picked one of them up and held it out to Blaine, "Do you want one?"

"No, that's fine." Blaine held up a palm, suddenly solemn.

"I want you to have it." Kurt insisted.

"No, really." Blaine looked down, "I can afford to buy my own."

"What?" Kurt asked, comprehension dawning.

"I don't need charity." Blaine muttered guardedly, almost inaudible.

"Who said anything about charity?" Kurt said sharply, causing Blaine's head to snap up. He held his gaze, "It's a gift. You gave me food and company, and you gave me this bracelet, and I want you to have this loaf of bread." He scowled, "Now stop being rude, and take it."

Blaine's mouth had fallen open slightly, sitting stunned for a second before leaning forward and grabbing the loaf in both hands, "Sorry…" He mumbled, his face apologetic.

"It's fine." Kurt sighed, smiling a little, "I understand. I know you probably get treated like that sometimes… like you're… vagrants or something. But I don't think that. You gave me something you made for nothing in return, and I want you to have something I made."

Blaine nodded slowly, "Thank you, Kurt."

"It's nothing."

"It sweet." Blaine insisted.

"Mm…" Kurt blinked, finding it hard to form a response under Blaine's open, rueful stare, "I… I should probably get home." He said finally, "I have a few chores… cooking."

"Oh, sure." Blaine jumped up, offering Kurt a hand up. He took it, again feeling the kind, rough callouses, watching the muscles on Blaine's arm stretch and shift as he pulled him effortlessly to his feet. "You live in that cottage just down there right?" He asked.

"Uh huh."

"Alone?"

"Yeah." Kurt nodded, holding back the unfortunately, that sat on the tip of his tongue.

"Maybe we'll come visit you." Blaine grinned, more his amiable self, "If that's okay?" he quickly added.

"Of course." Kurt gushed, "That'd be… that's be nice."

"Great. See you later then." He smiled, squeezing Kurt's hand firmly before finally letting go. "And sorry, again."

"Forget about it." Kurt said distractedly, "I hope you have luck finding work."

And he genuinely did. He may have only just begun to get to know Blaine, but at present the idea of him leaving any time soon filled him with a startlingly acute sadness. He was easy to talk to, entertaining, and as far as he could tell, talented. He was also gorgeous and a potential friend. He might have dared to think that Blaine could possibly even be more than a friend, but he honestly would have been equally content either way.

Ultimately, Kurt resolved that he really wanted Blaine to stay.