Even the pigeons liked him. That’s what had drawn Kurt’s attention. Without the pigeons, the short man with the wild hair would have been just another busker in Central Park; just another cad with a guitar. But the pigeons gathered around him, like they were interested, like he held their attention. People gathered around him too, as if his Beatles renditions were something more than just cheesy covers. So Kurt sat down at the bench across from where he played, perched on a stone garden ledge. He sat and pulled out his sketch pad, fully intending to draw the giant oak across the path. It was autumn in New York, and what kind of artist would he be if he didn’t take advantage of the audacious colouring of every living thing in the city? He breathed in deeply, enjoying the chance to draw something other than the dresses and blazers that his job required.

However, his hands balked at his attempts to sketch the giant oak and took their own path. They sketched the dark curls, the agile hands on the neck of the guitar, the hazel eyes, the broad grin that seemed to take over his entire face. They sketched the slim fit jeans that clung to the curve of his hip, the leather of his belt that sat just below the sliver of skin revealed by his pushed up t-shirt. Kurt was lost to his hands, the kind of loss of control he only indulged in every so often. It was rare, and it was addictive. The autonomy of his hands from his brain was too blissful, and he often had trouble pulling himself back. He was afraid if he did it too often, he’d get stuck. But on that day he indulged himself.

“Can I see?”

Kurt startled at looked up, surprised to see the subject of his sketch standing in front of him.

“Oh no. This boring old stuff? Leaves, uh, grass, trees, it’s really just doodles. Nothing special.” Kurt managed to run his mouth while trying to be casual.

Kurt was surprised when he sat down beside him on the bench and snatched the sketchpad before he could react.
“Wait, don’t...” he faltered as he realized it was too late. Kurt’s face burned with embarrassment. Now this guy was going to think he was a huge stalker. An incredibly talented stalker, but still, a stalker.

Kurt watched as his eyes flitted across the almost complete drawing; he was smiling.

“Take me out to dinner.” The busker grinned at Kurt, his eyes shining with mischief.

“What?” Kurt was dumbfounded.

“Well, I posed for your art, now I think the least you can do to pay me back is take me out to dinner.”

Kurt wrinkled his brow in confusion. Was he hitting on him?

“You um...” It was the busker’s turn to blush now,

“Accentuated my crotch a little more than was probably strictly necessary.”

Fucking autonomous artists hands

Looking at the drawing again he noticed that the bulge in the front his skinny jeans was more pronounced than what was probably socially acceptable.

Kurt blushed as he let his eyes wander over the man beside him. Apparently his hands had taken note of how deeply attractive he was before his brain had.

“Come on, I promise I’m not high maintenance. Any old greasy spoon with a decent milkshake will do.” The busker said as he stood up, extending his hand to Kurt.

Kurt smiled warily, “Hold up there Don Juan, how about a name?”

Smacking his hand to his forehead, he replied “Blaine.”

“Kurt.” he said, ignoring Blaine’s extended hand and getting up off the bench.

“Kurt.” Blaine rolled the name over his tongue, testing it out. “Well, shall we Kurt?”

Kurt surprised himself when he said,

“Fuck it. Why not?” He stashed his sketchpad in his satchel and started walking out of the park, leaving Blaine to follow him.

“So do you do this a lot? Seduce men with your sultry serenades in the park and then demand they take you out?” Kurt said, shooting Blaine a cheeky smile.

“Do you do this a lot? Spend your afternoon studying strange men’s jeans and sketching their packages?” Blaine replied.

Kurt winced and threw his hands up in defeat, “Touch�.”

“So mysterious artist in the park, where are you from?” Blaine inquired as he adjusted his guitar case on his back.

“Ohio. Lima, precisely.”

Blaine raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, it’s microscopic, not to mention archaic, I don’t expect you to know where it is.” Kurt replied, taking his expression for confusion.

“I do know it actually. I’m from Westerville.”

Kurt was taken aback. Westerville was maybe a 30 minute drive from Lima.

“No way. Where did you go to school?” he asked.

“Dalton Academy. I was a proud Warbler.” Blaine said.

“You were not in glee club.” Kurt stopped dead in his tracks.

“You know the Warblers?” Blaine was laughing now.

“McKinley High New Directions. We totally faced off at regionals one year.”

“Wow. This is so weird. So I guess we’ve probably seen each other before and we just don’t remember?”

“Strange.” Kurt agreed.

“Now I want to hear you sing.”

“Oh god, no.”

“Come on, it’s unfair. You’ve heard me sing.”

“Yes well, you were standing in the middle of Central Park with a guitar, it’s not like you were being shy about it.”

“I think you’re probably really good,” Blaine added shyly.

“Well of course I am. But I don’t sing on the first date,” Kurt winked at him.

Blaine laughed and Kurt realized he was enjoying himself. He shuddered to think what his father would say, if he could see him going out with a strange man he met in the city. It was exactly the kind of thing Burt had always warned him not to do. Somehow, Kurt couldn’t find the will to be afraid. Blaine’s eyes were too kind.

“Oh no. When hell freezes over,” Blaine yanked the arm of Kurt’s coat away from the door of Starbucks as he reached for the handle.

“Excuse me?” Kurt raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “This is a Calvin Klein jacket and what do you have against Starbucks?” he asked Blaine, who was determinedly marching past the glass door.

“If you spent 9 hours a day in there serving overly frothed syrupy drinks to a bunch of rude yuppies, you wouldn’t want to spend another second there either.”

Kurt laughed, that certainly wasn’t the answer he’d expected. “You’re a barista?”

“Hey it pays the bills okay.”

Kurt raised his hands in defeat, letting go of the door handle to Starbucks.

“Besides, I know a place where you can get a cup of coffee that is actually good. Not any of that fake Colombian garbage. And it just so happens I can satisfy this mad craving for a milkshake at the same time.”

Kurt snorted. “A milkshake? You are a five year old.”

“Five and a half” Blaine stuck his tongue out at Kurt, grinning.

The pair ended up in a rundown looking diner on West 104th St, looking out at the park.

They sipped their drinks in silence for a while and Kurt tugged nervously at his collar.

Blaine was the one that broke the silence. “Beatles or Elton John?”

Startled, Kurt was at a loss for words. “Um...what?”

“Just choose.”

“Elton.”

“Really? I mean I know we’re gay but really?” Blaine admonished.

“Next question.” Said Kurt.

“Waffles or pancakes?”

“Are you planning for breakfast in bed already? That’s bold of you.” Kurt twisted his coffee cup in his hands and smirked at Blaine.

Blaine blushed furiously for a moment before gathering himself.

“Just answer the question.”

“Crepes.”

“See now you’re just breaking the rules.”

“Oh so there are rules now?”

“Indeed” said Blaine.

“New York or Ohio?” he asked.

They both laughed as soon as the question had left Blaine’s lips.

“As much as I miss glee club and my high school friends, nothing in the world could make me go back.”

“Me neither, I ran the fuck out of there.” Blaine added.

Kurt chuckled, and then he noticed the stoic expression on Blaine’s face.

“Oh...you...you actually ran away from home?”

Blaine sighed. “Let’s just say my parents weren’t the most...accepting.”

“Of you being gay?” Kurt asked, his tone gentle.

“Of anything.” Blaine laughed. “I was a gay boy who wanted to be a musician and live in New York and not go to one of their pre-approved law schools. I was the exact opposite of anything they wanted in a son.”

Kurt felt sympathy welling up his chest for Blaine. He knew there were parents like that out there, he just thanked god he hadn’t had them. Before he could press any further, Blaine resumed the game.

“Red or white wine?”

“Red.”

“I’m tucking that away for later.” Blaine noted before asking, “Rent or Wicked?”

“Blaine Anderson, I think that is more of a third date kind of question.” Kurt fixed him with a serious stare.

“I’d say Rent.” Blaine replied, answering his own question.

“Of course you would.”

“Hey what does that mean?” he asked, feigning offense.

“Blaine, you’re a gay busker who lives in New York, you wear faded denim and you carry your guitar around on your back.” Kurt ticked off on his fingers. “You’d fit right in. I can practically hear you singing “La Vie Boheme””.

“I think I’m flattered...” Blaine laughed. “Next question: Top or bottom?”

Kurt reached across the table and swatted Blaine over the head.

“Hey ow! Okay, okay I was just kidding!” Blaine attempted to defend himself from Kurt’s wrath but he was laughing too hard for his attempts to be effective.

“You just think you’re so clever and charming don’t you? But in reality, you’re a...a...a scallywag.” Kurt said.

“A....did you just call me a scallywag?” Blaine doubled over in laughter again.

Kurt fixed him with a stern glare, though he was also having trouble keeping a straight face.

“You are a five year old!” he scolded, trying to keep his laughter at bay.

Still consumed by giggles, Blaine managed to choke out,

“Five and a half.”

~*~

“We are not tourists.”

“Shhhh.” Blaine cooed as he offered Kurt a hand into the boat.

Glaring uncertainly at the tiny green and white rowboat as if it might tip over at any second, Kurt took Blaine’s hand and settled into the seat opposite Blaine, who sat with the oars in hand.

“I can’t believe this is your idea of an original date. As a New Yorker, I am ashamed to be seen doing something so utterly touristy.”

“Hey,” Blaine began as he rowed away from the shore, “don’t judge quite yet. We are going to give this “utterly touristy” activity a real New Yorker twist.”

With a smug grin, Blaine produced a bottle of cheap red wine from underneath his coat.

Kurt clapped his hand to his mouth and laughed.

“I told you I was tucking that info away for later.” Blaine said.

“Do you really think that’s very safe? Getting drunk in the middle of the lake? In an extremely unsteady boat?” Kurt asked.

Blaine shrugged as he unscrewed the top of the bottle. Grinning at Kurt, he replied,

“I guess we’re going to find out.”

Kurt felt his carefully arranged expression of disdain slipping from his face as he watched Blaine row them farther out onto the lake.

He’d never actually rented one of the Central Park rowboats before and although he never would have admitted to Blaine that he was actually enjoying his cheesy date idea, he really liked it.

As they alternated sipping from the bottle, Kurt found his eyes slipping more and more often towards Blaine’s rolled up sleeves and the outline of his shoulders as he rowed. It was hard not to watch.

“What are you thinking about?” Blaine asked after Kurt had been silent for a while.

Your body

“I would really love to paint this. The colours are incredible.” Kurt supplied instead, gesturing towards the orange and red leaves that looked like they’d been set ablaze by the light of the sinking sun.

“You paint? I thought you just did sketches, for work and stuff?” Blaine inquired.

“I do mostly. I really like to paint; I just never have time for it. Or a purpose. I have this huge piece of canvas and all these expensive oil paints back at my apartment that I haven’t got around to even touching.”

“That’s sad.” Blaine replied softly.

Kurt hadn’t expected that response and he wondered if the alcohol was lowering Blaine’s inhibitions already.

“Sad?” Kurt replied, taking the bottle from him and taking an extra long swig.

Blaine stopped rowing, and let the boat drift. The lake was empty at the time of night anyway.

“Yeah. If you love something, you have to make time to do it. It’s all that matters.”

“Like your music?”

“Like my music.”

“Not all of us have hours of free time to spend charming tourists in the park.”

Blaine laughed.

“All I’m saying is you should paint. Do what makes you happy.” He said with sincerity.

“Oh boy, you must be drunk, you’re starting to get all sappy on me.”

“Mmmmmm.” Blaine just hummed happily.

“Blaine, steer us away from that rock. Blaine! Oh god, I feel like we’re on the Titanic.” Kurt flailed his arms in the direction of a boulder protruding from the water in panic.

Blaine giggled at this and steered them clear of the rock. “You are such a drama queen.”

Surprising Kurt, Blaine slid unsteadily off the bench of the rowboat and landed in the bottom of the boat.

“What are you doing?” Kurt giggled, feeling the wine making its way to his head.

“Lying in the bottom of the boat.” Blaine pronounced, taking another swig from the almost empty bottle and laying flat on his back.

“Insane.” Kurt muttered under his breath, while carefully positioning himself beside Blaine as the boat swayed threateningly.

“Mmmm you smell like coffee.” Kurt mumbled quietly.

Blaine chuckled, daring to put an arm around Kurt.

“That’s what happens when you work at Starbucks. It never goes away.”

Kurt felt warmth spreading across his back where Blaine’s hand rested. He wasn’t sure whether the warm fuzzy feeling that was filling him up was due to their close contact, or the red wine that he had probably drank too much of.

“Kurt, look at the stars.” Blaine motioned, slurring his words together slightly.

“They’re pretty. Just like you.”

Kurt slapped his hand over his mouth as he realized what he’d said. He expected Blaine to laugh but he didn’t. Instead, he turned his face towards Kurt’s and let his gaze wander over Kurt’s face. Their closeness was overwhelming, Kurt thought, lying in the bottom of a boat. They were hidden from the world, and Kurt felt warm all over again.

“Hey Kurt,” Blaine began, suddenly sounding more sober than he had all night.

“Remember the game we played in the diner, the other day?”

“I do.”

“Can we play again?”

“Hit me, Anderson.”

Blaine shifted minutely, closer against Kurt’s side.
Kurt drew in a deep breath unintentionally.

“Money or happiness?”

“Oh noooo” Kurt slurred. “You’re one of those philosophical drunks aren’t you? C’mon goofball, don’t go all thoughtful on me now.”

Blaine just smiled sleepily and waited.

“Happiness of course.”

“Cat or dog?”

“Cat.”

“Michael Jackson or Elvis?”

“Michael.”

“Lips or cheek?”

“Lips.”

Before Kurt even realized what he had answered, Blaine’s lips were on his, firm and insistent.

Kurt’s body responded before his wine-sluggish mind did. He pushed his lips back against Blaine’s, revelling in the heat and the tenderness of the moment. His hands instantly flew to Blaine’s curls, where they intertwined themselves as they continued kissing.

Blaine pulled away for a moment, looking sweetly into Kurt’s eyes. Kurt felt the alcohol taking control of his actions as he rolled towards Blaine and kissed him again, less tentatively and with more vigour.

Blaine reacted, moving towards Kurt and the combined force of their movements sent the boat rocking. Both parties ignored the threatening swaying as they became completely preoccupied with each other’s lips.

Suddenly, Blaine shifted sharply in an attempt to get a better angle and before either of them realized what was happening, they were in the lake.

Spluttering as he came up for air, Kurt called over to Blaine,

“I hope you can swim Anderson because I am not rescuing you!”

~*~

Blaine shivered as he watched Kurt walk up the steps to his apartment.

He’d walked Kurt home, both still dripping wet, and after kissing him goodnight, sweetly and chastely, Blaine was left outside in the cold October air.

He rubbed his hands together, trying to fight off the chill as he started back towards the park.

He tucked his knees into his chest as he huddled up inside one of the many gazebos in the park.

Closing his eyes, he remembered the sweet taste of Kurt’s lips, and tried to will away the cold.

It was no use.

He had started shaking. His soaking clothes weren’t allowing his body to retain any heat in the cold autumn night air.

Sighing heavily, he got up from the bench and headed downtown.

After walking for twenty minutes, shivering viciously the entire time, he was standing outside a building with an old sign that read, “Good Shepherd’s Shelter for Men”.

He hesitated, struggling with the instinct to flee.

He didn’t want to go inside; he knew it would trigger a torrent of bad memories.

He knew he would see faces he never wanted to see again.

But a cold gust of air that tore through his thin, wet coat pushed him through the doors into the shelter.
He walked down the familiar hallway towards the dormitory, where the rows upon rows of uniform beds filled the entire room.

The smell of onions and bleach assaulted his nostrils as he scanned the room. It was full of men milling about, as always. Blaine kept his head low as he searched the room for one particular person; wanting to see but not be seen.

“Ray!” he called out when he saw the man he was looking for perched on the edge of one of the thin beds.

Looking up, the old man smiled a near toothless smile at Blaine.

“Youngin’! I was wondering if you’d turn up tonight. It’s getting pretty cold out there.”

Blaine sighed heavily, peeling off his wet jacket. “I was planning on spending the night in the park but...I was a little bit damp...” he gestured to his wet ensemble.

Ray chuckled and stroked his long patchy white beard.

“I’ll say. What kinda trouble were you getting up to?”

Blaine smiled as he remembered his night with Kurt.

“The good kind of course.”

Ray stretched out on the tiny bed on his back, still wrapped in his layers of flannel shirts. “Ah, I remember the days when I used to get into the good kind of trouble.”

Ray glanced over at Blaine when he didn’t respond. He was looking nervously around the room.

“Hey kid. Rest your eyes. You look beat. I’ll watch your back.” Ray whispered to Blaine.

Blaine rubbed his face in his hands. He was exhausted- but he didn’t think he would be able to relax here. For a second, he wished he had stayed to freeze in the park.

“You know I can’t sleep here Ray.”

“He’s not here tonight kid. I looked.”

Blaine twisted his hands together uneasily, trying to stave off the rising anxiety in his chest.

“It doesn’t matter. I see him in all of them.” He gestured around the room to the other men.

Ray flipped over on his side and talked as quietly as he could in his southern drawl.

“Look Blaine, Nathan was a mean shit and a hell of a terrible boyfriend. But you left him. He ain’t got no power over you anymore.”

Blaine shifted in his bunk, giving Ray a weak smile. Ray was a good friend, but he would never understand. It wasn’t just Todd he was afraid of. It was the memories. They haunted him everywhere he went.

Trying to take Ray’s advice and rest his eyes, Blaine lay down on the bed. Comforted by the fact that Ray was close by, he tried to ignore the steady stream of men walking by the bed to find their own place to rest their heads.
He tried to focus on Kurt. Kurt’s eyes, his laugh, his hands, his touch, his lips.

He eventually drifted off for a short while, shifting uncomfortably in and out of sleep. He was jarred from his doze by a deep voice in his ear in the dark hours later.

“Hey baby boy.” A man was perched on the end of his bed with a hand on his leg.

Blaine started and had to slap a hand over his mouth to keep from yelping. It was an unfamiliar face but an all too familiar line.

“Get away from me.” He growled angrily.

“Hey easy there, sweet thing.” The strange man tried to placate him.

Blaine guessed the noise caused enough of a disturbance to wake up Ray in the bed next to him, because as he turned from the room and started to run he could hear Ray calling his name.

“Blaine wait! Blaine!”

Blaine kept running, letting the pounding in his ears drown out his voice.

He burst through the doors of the shelter, his chest burning as he gasped for air.

The cold air and darkness hit him hard, but he kept running. He ran and ran until he reached the park, where he collapsed in a heap in the grass.

Lying on his back in the freezing cold grass, Blaine tried to catch his breath. His head swirled with memories and he felt his eyes well up with unshed tears. He pushed them down as best he could as his breathing began to slow. The claustrophobia he had experienced in the shelter began to fade away and he told himself he would not break down.

He stared up at the night sky, listening to the sound of his own breaths and made a decision.

He would rather freeze out here than go back there.