The very first summer job Blaine had in high school, and every one after that, his father had insisted a large chunk of his wages be put into interest-earning CD accounts, which were slated to come due in regular intervals during his college years.
And— though Blaine was glad to be getting a return on his investment— it meant he didn't have access to the full amount he'd saved at one time. His father felt this would be a great life lesson, requiring Blaine to be responsible with his finances, to budget for needs and not be tempted to go on wild spending sprees. And Blainewasresponsible. But, New York was an expensive city to live in. Even splitting rent, utilities, and other costs with Kurt and Rachel, money was often tight.

It had become a point of pride for Blaine to be able to show his father he could make it on his own in the city— by the sweat of his brow and by his own rules. Trouble was, there were many unemployed actors and singers in New York. This meant that not only were performing gigs that actually paid anything virtually non-existent, there was also tough competition for every sales clerk, waiter, and barista job in the city.

As summer rolled into fall, Blaine kept very busy with his NYADA class work, his regular shift at the diner, and various odd jobs he could pick up here and there that would fit around his school schedule. Fortunately, he was an expert at working the trademark Anderson charm: that thousand-kilowatt smile and earnest puppy dog eyes, all wrapped up in dapper prep school manners. Doors would open— sometimes just a crack— but that was often enough to get him in on the ground level.

"Working your way from the bottom up builds character," Kurt cajoled one night, rubbing Blaine's aching back as he laid sprawled in front of him.

Blaine grunted a (not entirely convincing) noise of assent. It had been a very long day with classes in the morning and a full eight-hour shift at the diner afterward. Blaine had barely made it home with enough energy to drag himself into the bathroom for a quick shower before collapsing face-first onto the bed. He didn't even move when Kurt brought some pasta and veggies in for him.

"Come on, you need to eat in order to keep up that manic perky energy that gets you out of bed to walk Mrs. Samuelson's dogs for her attoo-damn-early-o'clock." Kurt rolled Blaine over onto his back, then pulled him into a sitting position. Blaine whined in protest, but stayed upright just long enough for Kurt to wedge some pillows behind his back to keep him that way.

Kurt took the plate from the nightstand and sat next to Blaine. "Come on, big boy— I'm not above playing 'here comes the choo-choo' to get some nourishment in to you," he said, taking a forkful and holding it above the plate. "Open up."

Blaine chuffed and looked up at Kurt, a sparkle of amusement in his tired eyes. "In my house, it was airplanes," he said. "I even had a special spoon that looked like an airplane— wings and all."

"I'm going to have to e-mail your mom and see if she still has that lying around somewhere. Maybe she can send it to me to help make sure you eat," Kurt said as he deftly navigated the food into Blaine's waiting mouth.

Blaine chewed and smiled, "She probably does. I don't think she's thrown away much of anything Cooper or I had as babies." He raised his hand and cupped Kurt's cheek tenderly, looking into his eyes. "Thank you for taking such good care of me."

"My pleasure," Kurt said, smiling back. He shifted the plate to one hand, using the other to brush a wayward curl off Blaine's forehead. "I'm so proud of you. You have to be building up some good karma points somewhere working as hard as you do." Kurt filled the fork again and offered Blaine another bite.

"I certainly hope so," Blaine said, stifling a yawn, eyes heavy. "I'd hate to think this was all for nothing."

"Character-building," Kurt sing-songed. He put the plate on the nightstand. "Don't forget there are veggies here for you too."

Blaine nodded wearily as he took the baby carrot offered to him, and Kurt got up from the bed. He walked over to the work clothes Blaine had unceremoniously discarded in a pile on the floor. "I'll just get some stain-stick on these before putting them in the hamper," he said, picking them up gingerly— nose wrinkling at the scent of sweat mixed with fry-oil and other unidentifiable odors from the diner. "Or, maybe we should just burn them," he teased.

Blaine didn't respond. Kurt turned to look back at the bed, and found Blaine rolled over on his side, sound asleep, still holding the carrot. Kurt shook his head, gently removed the carrot from Blaine's hand, and pulled the comforter over him, tucking him in. Kurt turned out the light and kissed him on the cheek. "Goodnight, sweet prince," he whispered.

***

"But, where are we going?"

"Be patient."

"You tell me to get all dressed up for a subway ride downtown, and you won't even give me a hint as to what this is all about?" Kurt said, exasperated. Even with his longer legs, he had to hurry to keep pace with his boyfriend who was almost vibrating with excited energy.

"We're celebrating!" Blaine beamed, and tugged on Kurt's hand as he forged ahead. He looked up at the storefronts as they walked past, taking note of the street numbers. "Almost there!"

They turned the corner, and Blaine stopped in front of The Capital Grille, an elegant steakhouse that catered to the the wealthy bankers and businessmen of Wall Street. "And here we are!" He opened the door and looked at Kurt expectantly. "After you."

"The Capital Grille," Kurt breathed, then his eyes narrowed as he turned to his boyfriend. "Blaine Anderson, what exactly are you up to?"

Blaine ushered him into the restaurant lobby in front of him, placing his hand at the small of Kurt's back to gently guide him over to the hostess stand. "I have reservations for two at 7:00 p.m., under the name Blaine Anderson," he said to the young lady behind the podium.

She checked her list, then looked up, smiling. "Your table is ready now, gentlemen. Please follow me."

They wound their way through the restaurant. Kurt tried not to gawk at at the opulent decor, but couldn't help himself. Crisp white linen cloths on tables decked with fine china and graceful stemware stood out against rich dark wood and deep red walls— radiating an aura of class, wealth, and sophistication.

They stopped at a cozy table near the back. Blaine pulled the chair out for Kurt, sliding it in as Kurt sat down, then came around to his own seat opposite. Kurt opened the menu the hostess had left, his eyes widening as he read. "Blaine! This is amazing, but—" his voice dropped to a whisper, "so expensive!You really shouldn't have!"

"Yes, Kurt, I absolutely should," Blaine said earnestly. "I sold the Volvo, and was able to negotiate a pretty good price. I can cover my last tuition payment for the year, two month's worth of my share of rent and other living expenses, and plane tickets home for Christmas, with enough leftover to take the love of my life out for a proper dinner date."

He reached across the table and took Kurt's hand in his. "Look, this is a chance to celebrate starting our lives together in New York. Tomorrow, we will go back to being poor college students, but tonight, we'll be decadent! And we'll have both wineanddessert with our expensive, delicious dinner. Enjoy the novelty of this experience!"

Kurt laughed. "Okay, I will. Because in a couple of years, you'll be tearing up the charts with your Grammy-winning debut album, and I'll be taking Broadway by storm. Eating at fancy-schmancy restaurants like this will be so routine!"

Blaine's face lit up. "Kurt Hummel— have I told you lately how much I love you?"

"Yes, constantly," Kurt huffed in exaggerated irritation. Then his expression softened and he smiled. "But I will never, ever tire of hearing it. I love you too, Blaine Anderson."