"And they're coming in. This is the fourth and final lap of the 200 meter butterfly. Anderson has been squarely in the lead since the second lap, but now it looks as if he may be slowing down. Smythe is on his tail, and gaining some ground."

The thundering cheers from the audience grew in volume as the two competitors left the rest of the competition far behind. Both Blaine Anderson and Sebastian Smythe came from the USA, so there was little question as to which country would end up with bragging rights in this event. Blaine was going for his first gold. Sebastian, however, had competed in Beijing four years ago. This was the first time Blaine had ever been in front of a crowd this large, with expectations piled so high.

Earlier that morning, Blaine had left Olympic Village in search of a small coffee shop to calm his nerves. Blaine's coach had strictly prohibited caffeine of any sort, but he still enjoyed sitting in the cozy cafes. The sounds of people filtering in and out and the sweet scent of coffee reminded him of his home back in Ohio.

After a few minutes of aimless wandering, he came across a quaint shop that was nearly hidden behind the stores surrounding it. It seemed fairly busy, but somehow quieter than the rest of the city. London was constantly bustling with the activity that came with the Olympics, and Blaine was thankful for a place that was separate from that.

The front was constructed out of old, fading bricks, and the door was phone-booth red. Above it was a simple black sign with gold lettering that read "The Espresso Room."

Perfect Blaine thought to himself as he opened the door. Inside, the atmosphere was even better than expected. To the side was the counter, where the barista was busying himself with another customer's order. In one corner, a couple sat in a booth giving each other doe eyes. A few tables down from them was a woman typing furiously on her laptop. The light brown walls and neutral toned furniture just made the room feel so…warm.

Blaine stepped up to the counter. He figured he should order something if he was going to sit there for a while.

"I'll be with you in a second," said the man behind the counter. His voice was a few pitches higher than he would have expected, but it was lovely and melodic and oh-so British. Blaine hadn't thought he had a thing for accents, but that was before he'd arrived in London.

A minute later, the man had finished putting together someone else's order and called out: "Grande Caramel Frappe."

The customer picked up his order distractedly and retreated to a table on the opposite side of the room. The barista then turned to Blaine.

"What can I get for you today, sir?" He flashed a pleasant smile at Blaine.

Blaine gaped a little. This man had a gorgeous voice, but his face was even more exquisite. His skin was flawlessly smooth, and didn't look much different in color from the clear jug of cream he could see behind the counter. His jaw was clearly defined and his eyes were a striking shade of blue.

"I—uh, just a medium decaf tea please." He mumbled. Blaine tried to avoid eye contact and hoped the server wouldn't see the flush that had shown up on his face.

"Absolutely! Anything else I can get you? I would recommend the scones. I just finished them half an hour ago."

"Um, Yeah. Sure."

"Excellent, that will be 4 pounds."

Blaine handed over the money and watched as the man behind the counter quickly wrapped up the scone and poured hot tea into a container. In no time at all, the barista handed Blaine his order. Never once did the small smile fall from the pale man's lips.

"You know, I wouldn't have taken you for a decaf tea kind of person, Mr…" said the man.

"Blaine, just Blaine." He chuckled somewhat nervously "I'm not. I'm partial to a good medium drip."

"Mmm…" the server replied. He appeared as if he was storing away the information for later, or maybe he was just one of the thoughtful types. "So why the tea?"

"Well," Blaine began, "I'm actually swimming for team USA in the Olympics today. It's my first race and my trainer doesn't allow caffeine or coffee of any type."

"Ahh. Well, you should come back afterwards so you can try our coffee. It's the best in the city, I can guarantee that." At that point, the man had leaned forward on the counter and placed his hand under his chin. To Blaine, he looked simply adorable

"I'll make sure to do that—"

"Kurt, Kurt Hummel." He extended a hand, and Blaine took it immediately. After a moment longer than necessary, they dropped hands and Blaine nodded slightly. He then made his way to the other side of the shop and sat down in a soft chair. Every now and then Blaine would glance back at the slim figure behind the counter, paying close attention to the perfectly coiffed hair and surprisingly toned arms. A couple times he thought he caught Kurt staring back, but he wasn't quite sure.

"I'm not sure if he's going to make it—Smythe is closing in. What a shame too, this would have been Anderson's first gold—"

"Hold on there, no need to jump to conclusions," a second announcer cut in. "He's pushing though, and it's going to be a close one."

In the stadium, the entire US swim team was hollering. The general audience seemed to only get louder as the seconds ticked down. A few rows above the team, Cooper Anderson could be seen enthusiastically calling his brother's name.

Sebastian and Blaine were head to head. Each stroke counted. With a final push, the two hit the wall at nearly the same moment. The crowd hitched as all eyes turned to the scoreboard to see who had hit the touch pad first.

In a coffee shop just a few minutes down the road, Kurt Hummel smiled as he saw the results of the event on a small television screen in the room.

Blaine Anderson- 1st Place.