Chapter 2

Sunlight streamed in through the window as Blaine hummed along to the songs streaming from the open laptop on the desk. He reveled in the eclectic mix of tunes WNYU's DJ was spinning— an energetic selection of indie pop perfect for fueling the
settling in process.

He and Kurt had trolled the local hardware store the day after he'd arrived and brought home supplies to fix up the old armoire. With both of them working together, scraping, sandpapering and repainting had gone faster than he'd expected. Kurt was still on the hunt for some drawer/
baskets and artsy embellishments for the outside, but said that shouldn't keep Blaine from starting to move his things into their new home today.

Blaine had the loft to himself that morning, with Kurt at work and Rachel running errands. He spun as he danced his way over to the armoire with a stack of carefully-folded shirts, making a mental note to look up more music by this particular band when he had a chance. Once the clothes were neatly in their place, he turned to assess the remaining piles. "What to tackle next?" he mused aloud. A knock on the door gave him an immediate answer.

"I have two boxes here for a—" the delivery man checked his handheld computer, "Mr. Blaine Anderson?"

"That would be me," Blaine said cheerfully, reaching to take the stylus offered to sign his name.

There were, in fact two very large boxes addressed to him. His mom, true to her word, had sent the remaining items he wanted from his room.

"Would you like me to wheel these in for you so you don't have to wrestle them by yourself?"

"Yes, please," Blaine nodded. He held the door open wider so the man could navigate the boxes through the entryway. "Over by the couch would be great."

Blaine helped slide the boxes off the dolly. "Thank you so much," he said, and the driver nodded and waved as he went on his way.

Blaine turned his attention back to the boxes. He slipped his small pen knife out of his jeans pocket, carefully slicing the packing tape on the first box and folding the flaps back to look inside. A note in his mother's neat, precise handwriting laid on top of several bubble-wrapped items.

Dearest Blaine,

The house just isn't the same without you here. I miss coming home to you playing the piano in the drawing room, and seeing your smiling face at breakfast. I guess "empty-nest syndrome" has hit me hard these past few days that you've been gone—especially with packing up these last little knick-knacks from your bedroom.

How is life in New York so far? I hope you're not wasting away in your new "Bohemian arts college lifestyle." I've taken the liberty of including some homemade pan de sal buns and a couple of jars of my mango raspberry jam that I know you love—just to soothe my worried mind now that I can't personally see to it that you are eating properly every day.

Blaine looked up from the letter, scanning the box contents again, and sure enough, the care package she described was there nestled safely among bubble-wrapped treasures. He smiled— the best taste of home he could have asked for, short of her sending pancit miki (which wouldn't have traveled nearly as well). He returned to her note.

Your father misses you too, Blaine. I know it's hard, but please be patient with him. He has high expectations of you, because he only wants the best for you. He does love you, but he is stubborn (a trait ALL the Anderson men have—you included!). He'll come around eventually. Give him time.

He sighed and closed his eyes, remembering his last conversation with his father. It hadn't been pretty— months of pent-up frustrations and irritations culminating in a proper fight three nights before Blaine left for New York.

"You're really doing this?"

"Yes, dad, we've been through it already. Many times."

"You could be starting at Harvard this fall. With your grades and extra-curriculars, you wouldn't even have to rely on being a 'legacy' to get in—"

"Business and law is YOUR dream, not mine. I've been accepted at one of the country's most prestigious performing arts schools, and I'm GOING to
New York."

"Chasing a crazy 'show-biz' dream, just like Cooper. I expected better from you, Blaine. You're throwing away your future on this reckless plan, if you can even call it a plan!"

"Dad—"

"Running off to New York. Shacking up with your 'high school sweetheart'. You know, statistically high school romances don't even last into college, much less beyond."

"Kurt is NOT just a high school romance—"

"You've always been the responsible one, Blaine, and yet here you are diving headfirst into this foolishness. Do you know how many thousands of people— very talented people— go to New York with dreams of making it big, only to barely scrape by? Fame and fortune don't just fall into your lap—"

"I KNOW, dad. I'm not afraid of working hard to get what I want. But this IS what I want, and you don't have to like it."

"I don't like it. And I don't have to support it, either. If you're doing this, you are doing it without any financial assistance from your mother and me. You are on your own. Maybe THAT will make you come to your senses."

His father had stormed out of his room then, slamming the door behind him before Blaine could even respond. He knew that even if his mother didn't agree with his father's methodology, she would not openly defy her husband's authority on this. That was not her way. She would, however, work quietly behind the scenes, nudging Blaine and his father toward a reconciliation. He could hear her soft, cajoling tone even as he read her note again— be patient... he loves you... give him time.

Blaine gathered the jam jars and plastic box of rolls and headed toward the kitchen. He heard scrabbling at the front door by someone apparently not coordinated enough to get the lock open. Quickly setting his items on the counter, he scrambled to open it— and found Rachel barely balancing two full bags of groceries while trying to wrangle her keys from her purse.

"Oh, Blaine, thank goodness!" Rachel gasped as he took the bags from her and brought them to the table. "I was mere seconds from spilling everything in the hallway."

"Glad to be of service," he chuckled. "I'm working on my merit badge for 'Helping Damsels In Distress' you know."

"I would have thought you'd have earned that one ten times over by now," Rachel said, beaming up at him. "Is Kurt still out?"

"Yes, though I expect him home soon," Blaine replied, checking his watch.

As if on cue, the front door opened again and Kurt came swooping into the loft, dropping his loaded satchel on the floor beside the couch with thud. " accessories project sorted." He crossed to the kitchen and gave Rachel a quick hug, "Hello, Roomie," then spun to wrap his arms around Blaine and plant a loud smooch on his cheek, "and hello, Handsome Boyfriend! Are you ready to head to NYADA?"

"I am," Blaine grinned. "Am I suitably attired to accompany 's most talented intern into the city?" He stepped back from Kurt with arms stretched out to his sides, turning from side to side so Kurt could get the full effect.

Kurt's eyes flicked down Blaine's body appraisingly. "You know how I love those yellow pants, and few people can make the polo shirt/bowtie look work like you can, Blaine," he said, reaching up to smooth and straighten Blaine's plaid bowtie. "I approve."

Blaine preened just a little, as Kurt turned to gather his keys and cell phone again, before continuing, "Although, now that you are in New York, I look forward to introducing a whole new world of fashion and accessories into your wardrobe."

"I'm happy to play dress up with you any time you want, Kurt Hummel."

A wry smile twisted across Kurt's face. "Mmmmm, I'll be sure to take you up on that later. Right now we need to get you to your appointment with the school registrar."

The sun was beginning to set as Kurt and Blaine walked hand-in-hand down the street toward their apartment building.

"There's nothing like handing over thousands of dollars for tuition to make one appreciate those summer jobs at Six Flags," Blaine said.

"And sidewalk vendor pretzels," Kurt said, offering Blaine the last bite of their shared treat.

"Mmmhmm." Blaine chewed and swallowed, wiping his bottom lip with his fingers to make sure the last bit of mustard didn't escape down his shirt. "I'm lucky to have such an expert guide to the city. It won't be long until I will have mastered mass transit and know where to find all the cheap eats."

"You are a quick study."

They stopped at the crosswalk to wait for the light to change. Blaine bit his lip and glanced over at Kurt before returning his gaze to the signal. "You know, I was thinking, maybe I should look into selling the Volvo. We really don't need a car in the city, and it would be nice to have the extra cash in the account— especially since my big Broadway starring role and multi-million-dollar record deal is still a few weeks out."

Kurt chuckled. "Well, it's your car to do with as you see fit."

"It's an older model and its definitely not sexy, but it's in great condition and runs well. It should be good for a few thousand, anyway."

"A little extra cash wouldn't hurt, especially since I'll be cutting back my hours at Vogue once classes start again in the fall."

"Alright," Blaine said with determination, "I will add 'selling the Volvo' to my list of things to do. Oh— and did I tell you? The diner around the corner from us has an opening for a dishwasher and short-order cook. I talked to the manager yesterday and he said they could work around my school schedule. It doesn't pay much, but it's a job and is mine if I want it."

Kurt squinted at Blaine. "You? A short-order cook?" he asked, incredulous.

"Hey, I do okay!" Blaine retorted, mock-offended. "I can make a mean omelet, and I'm already quite skilled in grilling burgers and such with all my family cookout experience. Besides, you said yourself I'm 'a quick study'."

"And you can do just about anything you want when you set your mind to it, Mr. Anderson." Kurt tangled his fingers with Blaine's as the light changed and they stepped together off the curb.

Blaine's eyes darted down to the asphalt as he squeezed Kurt's hand. "My mom says I'm 'stubborn' and says it runs in the family. I come by it honestly, apparently."

"Well, I like to think of it as 'tenacious'— and that trait that will serve you well in this city," Kurt said and Blaine laughed.

"Now, considering my immediate future in the foodservice industry, what would you say qualifies as 'short-order chic,' o fashionable one?"

"Ha! Because I love you I am not walking into that wide-open invitation for a height joke," Kurt poked him playfully.

"Nice," Blaine huffed.

"But, since you asked, I doubt it includes wonderfully quirky bowties."

"Hey— bowties are cool!"

"Of course they are. But the moment you come home in a fez I will have to revoke your fashion cred for being excessively nerdy."

"Oh, really? The mere fact that you not only knew my Doctor Who reference, but in turn responded with another Doctor Who reference proves you are just as big of a nerdy fanboy as I am."

"I am not a nerdy fanboy. I am in love with a nerdy fanboy— there is a difference. I just happen to embrace all the weirdness that comes with him," Kurt said, teasing. "You've already got a collection of toy robots.That ups your nerd factor considerably."

"Not a nerdy fanboy yourself?" Blaine challenged, now walking backwards in front of Kurt and looking at him with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Then I'm sure you won't mind me tossing your Downton Abbey DVDs to make room on the shelf for my model robots!"

Kurt came to a full stop, mouth dropping open shock. Seizing his chance, Blaine spun around and sprinted ahead the last fifty feet to their building, racing up the steps to the front door and darting inside.

Kurt blinked, momentarily stunned, then began the chase."Oh, no you don't— TOUCH MY DVDS AND DIE, ANDERSON!"