Blaine grinned wildly as he exited the stage for the final time that night. Backstage everyone cheered as the cast came back, celebrating their first night. One of the ensemble members came up behind him and squeezed him in a tight hug.

"You were marvelous!" she beamed.

Blaine laughed as a few others passed by patting his shoulder or ruffling his hair. When she finally let go, Blaine turned around and offered a proper hug. "So were you, Kate! The extra practice paid off."

When they broke apart she gave a small shrug, "I guess, but you were the star of the show."

"I tried my best," he said, half smiling.

"Well it was outstanding."

The voice came from behind him, and Blaine turned to see his co-star, Alice.

"I couldn't have done it without you," he answered.

"Oh, but you could have, Blaine. You're phenomenal, even if you still don't realize it."

He laughed lightly as the stage director passed, offering a smile and nod of his head. It was the most positive response he'd gotten from the man in the weeks of knowing him.

"So we're all going to the bar to celebrate," Kate piped up, "Wanna come?

Blaine shook his head, "nah, I've have to get here early tomorrow to work on a few things, rain check?"

Alice shook her head, "Of course, Blaine. Just like every other time we asked."

He raised his arms as if to say What can I do?

The two girls rolled their eyes at his response. "Okay then, we'll see you tomorrow," Kate said before pulling Alice in the direction of another cast member.

Before the hour was over, Blaine took his things and started to make his way out of the side door. He glanced through the window, trying to gauge just how many people were waiting for him.

Hordes, and too many of them were paparazzi.

It had been the same for the past few weeks. Every time he'd leave a rehearsal or go out for a cup of coffee he'd hear, "Blaine! Have you been involved in such and such scandal?" or "Blaine! What's your next move?" He loved performing on stage. There was nothing better than bearing everything to an intent audience, but he could go without the attention he drew outside of work.

Now that he'd actually had his first opening day, he knew there would be plenty of people waiting for him outside the theater. He didn't mind the fans at all. In fact he appreciated them. The only problem was that the paparazzi usually fought their way to the front, using years of celebrity tracking experience. They cut off people who had been waiting for hours and shoved cameras in his face.

He took a deep breath before opening the door and stepping out into the cold New York air. The wind immediately began to bite at his cheeks, and he paused to zip up his jacket.

Blaine didn't even blink as the hoards of paparazzi swarmed him outside of the theater. He tried to ignore them as he signed pictures for his fans. He was bombarded with question after question, many of which were highly speculative and far from the truth.

"Mr. Anderson! How does it feel to have just headlined in what has been the highlight of your career?"

"Mr. Anderson, Mr. Anderson! Tell us, were you nervous when your partner stumbled over her lines in the second act? Will she be replaced?"

"Blaine! Can you comment on the rumors about your supposed relationship with the director? Is it true that you two had an affair?"

That was a new one. Blaine looked up at the man who'd asked the question. When he noticed Blaine's interest, he began to press for information.

"Reports say that you've been spotted out and about with the director. Is this an indication of your relationship? Does the fact that you two are dating affect your casting in tonight's production?"

Blaine blinked. He wasn't aware that there were rumors floating around, and that certainly wouldn't help him at all. If people thought that he was cast because he was sleeping with the director, his career would end with this play.

When Blaine took too long to answer, the pap started again: "So you don't deny it?"

Blaine snapped out of his shock and immediately responded with a "no comment," before signing one last head shot and slipping into the town car that was waiting on the side of the street.

When he was safely in the car, he slumped forward and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was a problem someone was going to have to sort out, and one his agent would be furious about. They picked up coffee together one time, and there was certainly no romantic intent on his part.

Robert, his driver, glanced at his from the front seat. "Are we going home Mr. Anderson?"

Blaine shook his head, "Not yet. I need to grab a coffee or something."

"Are we going to La Crème?"

Blaine almost nodded, for that was where he went to get coffee every day. Then he realized that if he'd been photographed there recently, there would also be tons of people milling around, waiting for him to show up so they could question him further.

"Uh, not today. Could you drive around and find somewhere else? Anything that isn't Starbucks."

Robert nodded and pulled out from the side of the road.

Blaine sat up, leaning against the glass window and staring up at the city that had amazed him when he first arrived in New York ten short years ago. It still reminded him why he was there on a daily basis; the city, the people, the excitement. If only he could experience all of that without having to give up the privacy fame had taken from him.

When the car rolled to a stop some ten minutes later, Blaine glanced out the window to ensure there wasn't anyone waiting for him outside. It looked clear enough.

"Thanks Rob, do you want me to bring you anything?"

"That won't be necessary sir," he answered a bit too stiffly for Blaine's liking.

"No need to call me sir, and I might bring you one of those muffins you're so fond of—cranberry-orange is it?"

"Thank you," He responded, smiling at Blaine's gesture.

Blaine nodded and opened the door, sliding out of the car before letting it swing shut behind him. He finally got a good look at the coffee house. It was a twenty-four hour shop, and it looked relatively plain from where he stood. A black door stood against a green wall. As he approached, he noticed that the door had been covered with chalk board paint, and notes and specials were written on it in a clean cursive.

The door rang when he entered the relatively empty shop. There were a few patrons scattered around, writing furiously on their laptops.

As Blaine approached the counter, digging in his pocket and counting out a few bills, a man came from the back, wiping his hands on a dish rag before stuffing it in his back pocket. Blaine didn't see how the man stopped for a moment in his tracks, or the tiny "o" his lips made in recognition.

By the time Blaine had looked up, the Barista had regained his composure and was crossing the last few steps to the register.

"Hello!" he greeted cheerily, "what can I get for you today?"

"A medium drip please. And do you have..." Blaine trailed off as his eyes wandered to the pastry display. He glanced at the muffins, noticing that the area behind the cranberry-orange sign was empty save for a few crumbs. "Oh, it looks like you're out."

The Barista followed Blaine's line of sight, and noticed the empty space. "Oh, yes. Cranberry-orange is out best seller. But if you ask me," he whispered, leaning in dramatically, "the orange scones are even better."

"Really?" Blaine raised his eye brows. "Okay, I'll take one of those then. Actually, make it two."

"Great," he said, pressing a few keys on the register, "will that be all?"

Blaine nodded, "I'll take the pastries to go, please. I've got someone waiting on me in the car."

"Alright, that'll be $5.30," the man said before accepting the cash from Blaine. He then got to work wrapping up the scones. When he turned to fill Blaine's coffee, Blaine couldn't help but notice his lean, lithe figure. He looked on in admiration and felt a slight hint of jealousy. If there was one thing he wished he could change about himself, it was his short, compact stature. This man making his coffee was graceful, and moved with a fluidity Blaine wished he had.

When he turned to grab a lid for the coffee, Blaine tore his eyes away from the man's body and made eye contact.

He smiled brightly when the Barista handed him the bag and coffee.

"Here you go. I hope you like the scones."

"Thank you," Blaine responded. "If they're any good I might have to come back for more." Blaine set his coffee on the counter and reached out his hand. "My name is Blaine Anderson, by the way."

He thought he saw a slight smirk at the mention of his name, but it quickly disappeared and was replaced with a genuine smile as he took Blaine's hand, "Kurt Hummel. I hope to see you back here Mr. Anderson."

Blaine nodded and lifted his coffee, offering one last glance before heading out the door.

When he was in the car again a couple minutes later, he had to admit that it was the best tasting scone he'd ever had, and he was definitely going to come back again.