Blaine walked. The walk brought him none of the peace that it used to, instead causing not only his panic to rise high enough to make him jumpy, shaky and unable to think straight, but more worries to pile up inside his head. The city failed to make these worries seem insignificant; if anything, it heightened them, emphasizing how bad and also mind-blowing the situation he was in actually was. Because if the walk taught him one thing, it was that this was definitely real. As unbelievable as it was, he was actually in the future, no matter how much he tried to deny it.

He gave up on searching for evidence of this being a vivid dream or hallucination three hours after he started walking, accepting the truth and marvelling in the New York of the future instead. Rather than hunting for something to prove this wasn't real, he admired the extraordinary architecture, the strange fashions, and wonderful technology. He caught glimpses of the old New York he was familiar with amongst the modern, the fantastic, and the unbelievable, some of it so jaw-droppingly amazing he had to stumble to a stop and stare, such as the sheer dizzying height of some of the buildings. And then there was the plain perplexing: strange, shiny devices nearly everyone hurrying past him held to their ears and spoke into or held in their hands and tapped at with rapidly moving fingers.

He walked until the panic, which had been fuelling him for the last few hours, was no longer enough to keep him going and he began to feel the ache of his feet, the slump of his shoulders, and the tired strain of his muscles. He walked until his steps were dragging and darkness had fallen around him, the city lit up, glowing more brightly than he had ever seen it. It was only then that he came to a stop and really thought about the situation he was in.

Falling back against a wall, he breathed in the cooling city air, and thought.

It was twenty-fourteen and though the city may be somewhat familiar to him, none of the people or places were. He had no family that he knew of in this time, no friends, nobody he could go to for help. He had no home, no shelter to spend the night, and returning to his own time was looking increasingly unlikely with each passing minute. He had little choice but to find a hotel to spend the night in.

It wasn't hard to find a hotel in New York: he only had to walk a few more blocks until he found one that was suitable, one that claimed to have opened a couple of years into the future of Blaine's time. The idea made his head hurt and he stared at the date proudly displayed on the hotel's façade with his forehead scrunched into a frown for a moment before entering through the heavy glass door, a feature obviously added more recently.

He confused the receptionist with some of the money he tried to pay with from the wallet thankfully still in his pocket. She peered at him curiously as he fumbled with notes and coins, trying to count out the correct amount - which seemed a little extreme - without handing over currency that was out of circulation. Blushing and almost dropping his wallet under her scrutinising stare, he took the room key she handed him, before stammering his thanks and hurrying off.

He collapsed gratefully onto the bed once he'd let himself into the room, more exhausted than he could ever remember being, drained to the point where he could no longer do anything beyond lying on his back and staring at the ceiling and the kaleidoscope of city lights playing across it. He didn't even have the energy to switch on the light. He was asleep within minutes.

Some unknown stimulus jolted him awake. He was immediately panicked and confused, the feeling of foreign settling on him the second he blinked his eyes open. Convinced he'd had some weird, unsettling dream, he flailed into an upright position until he was sitting on the edge of the bed with a racing heart, taking in his surroundings with wide eyes. A small yelp escaped him.

Unfamiliar walls, a strange bed, and on the dresser directly in front of him, an odd, black, rectangular-shaped device which reflected his pale face. It was that which reminded him where he was.

The future.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he willed himself to be back in his own time. He pictured the brick buildings which lined the city streets; the mansion house with its manicured lawns on the city's outskirts where he lived; the music room where he spent most of his time with its wood-panelled walls and grand piano centrepiece - as if by imagining it all hard enough he could transport himself back. He wasn't all that disappointed when he opened his eyes to find himself still in the odd hotel room; he'd never gotten his hopes up for somehow, magically being whisked back to 1923, despite time travel being possible in this year he was in now - for how else could he have ended up here?

Blinking in the bright stream of sunlight that blazed into the room as the sun peeked out from behind a cloud, Blaine clambered to his feet, a little stiff after having slept in his clothes in a rather uncomfortable position. He stretched, listening to his joints pop, and made a decision.

He couldn't spend the day sitting in this room waiting for a possibly elusive something to happen. Someone in this time must have sent him forward in time to this year for a reason and he wouldn't discover who had done this and why by staying shut up in a hotel room.

After quickly washing up in the bathroom - gaping at the ways people of this time functioned - and smoothing out his wrinkled clothes as best as he could, he left the room, scurrying down a flight of stairs to the ground floor where the smell of cooked breakfast was wafting through the marble lobby from a wide doorway to his left. His stomach gave an unsettled squirm at the smell and he passed over the idea of eating, heading to the receptionist's desk where he handed over the room key with the message that he may be back tonight. And then he left the hotel, stepping out into the busy street beyond the doors.

It must be early; still the hectic hours where the businessmen and - as was pleasingly very common now - women hurried to work. There was a slight bite to the air which spoke of approaching autumn and Blaine tucked his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket as he set off down the street, lost in the flow of people.

He had no idea where he was going as he aimlessly followed the crowds. He was growing more certain that he'd ended up in this time for a reason and was half-waiting for something to happen that would explain everything. He let his feet carry him through the streets until, with a start, he looked up to find he was standing outside the coffee shop he'd been outside when he'd somehow managed to travel through time. He blinked at the doors, a stray thought entering his head that maybe this café had something to do with everything and that was why he'd been drawn to it. This was somewhere familiar to him - somewhere from his own New York - and for some reason that seemed important. He nibbled on his bottom lip as he surveyed the front of the coffee shop and then after a moment's hesitation, he stepped inside - and froze.

The interior of the small coffee shop was almost identical to how he remembered it. The current owners obviously wanted to have a vintage style and had kept features from the twenties when the café was first opened. Blaine moved further inside, taking in the small round tables, the original espresso machine on the wall and the display: baked goods and packages of coffee beans.

Noticing a woman behind the counter frowning at him, he gave his head a small shake, as if clearing it of cobwebs, and approached the counter slightly nervously.

"What can I get you?"

Blaine scanned the boards on the wall frantically, not even recognising some of the items listed. He eventually settled on a black coffee and took it to an empty table in the corner. He felt as if everyone was staring at him - and maybe they were, he did stand out a little with his outfit, he hadn't seen anyone else wearing a waistcoat, suit jacket, and fedora hat; it appeared that was considered either outdated or too formal for everyday wear.

As he sipped at his coffee his thoughts drifted to his own time, to home. What had happened after he had left so abruptly? Did Wes and his parents frantically search for him after he had vanished without a trace? Or did travelling into the future effectively erase his past self, so to them it would be as if he never existed? Both scenarios were painful to him and he hated the thought that either of them could be happening.

'Could have happened,' he corrected himself. Where he was now all of that would have happened ninety-one years ago. And that was another thing: in this time where he was now everyone he knew and loved would no longer be alive.

This last realisation was so huge and gut-wrenching he spent a good deal of time staring down at his coffee cup, letting the enormity of his situation sink in. He couldn't believe this wasn't all some wild dream.

"I take it you're no longer as lost as you were yesterday?"

Blaine jumped when a voice interrupted his thoughts, a voice that was somehow familiar. He looked up and, with a leap of his heart, found the handsome stranger who had helped him yesterday standing by his table wearing a friendly smile and holding a cup of coffee.

"Oh." Blaine looked around wildly, trying to gather his composure and his suddenly scrambled thoughts. "No, no, today I'm good. I've- I was just rather overwhelmed yesterday."

The man nodded in understanding. "New York can feel that way at times." He hovered a little uncertainly by the table until Blaine's brain finally caught up with the situation.

He stood up and indicated the empty chair across from his own. "Would you like to join me?"

A brief flicker of surprise crossed the man's face before he smiled, looking pleased. "Thank you," he said, setting his coffee down on the table and sitting down.

Taking his seat again, Blaine held his hand out to the man. "Sorry, I should have introduced myself earlier. I'm Blaine Anderson."

The man placed his hand - the skin soft and smooth - in Blaine's. "I'm Kurt, Kurt Hummel."

Blaine smiled warmly at him, trying to ignore the speed with which his pulse raced at the other man's touch. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Kurt."

The softest of blushes tinged Kurt's cheeks at these words and Blaine had to avert his eyes, taking a sip of his coffee to distract himself from the beauty of the rosy pink staining Kurt's pale cheeks and from the fluttering feeling in his stomach.

"Likewise," Kurt said in his melodic voice. He cleared his throat. "So, where are you from? I'm guessing you're not local."

Blaine looked up from his coffee, his mind racing to think of a suitable story to explain his behaviour yesterday. "I'm from Connecticut," he invented wildly. "I'm here to pay a visit to an old friend of mine."

Kurt was watching Blaine over the top of his coffee cup. "Did you manage to find your friend?"

Blaine hesitated. "No," he replied slowly. "Business apparently made him move out of state." Anticipating Kurt would question this further, he quickly changed the subject. "I hope I didn't make you late for anything when I stopped you yesterday."

Kurt blinked, seeming confused at the abrupt change of topic, but shrugged it off. "Oh, no," he assured him. "I was on my way to work, but I always stop for coffee here first so you didn't make me late."

"Where do you work?" Blaine asked. He was finding himself becoming more and more intrigued by Kurt the longer he sat with him and he really wanted to learn more about the man: what he did in his free time; what made him laugh; the kind of coffee he was drinking. He couldn't remember ever feeling this way about another person before, even when he'd first met Wes and they'd become fast friends he hadn't felt this desire, this thirst, to get to know him. Blaine wasn't sure what to make of it.

"At Dalton Designs, it's a fashion label that has offices a few blocks away," Kurt informed him with a smile. Blaine could hear the pride in his voice. "I'm one of their designers."

Blaine stared at him, wondering if he'd heard right. "You're a fashion designer?" he asked in surprise. He hadn't heard another man express an interest in fashion before. The one time Blaine had pointed out the fine detailing on a waistcoat and matching bowtie and commented on how much he wished to have them, his father had made a rather nasty remark about how Blaine better watch what he was saying or people would think he was becoming too feminine.

The surprise in Blaine's voice made Kurt frown. "Yes," he said stiffly. "And I've heard all the jokes and slurs before so you needn't bother with any of those."

"Slurs?" Blaine repeated, feeling as though he was missing something. "No, I've just never met anyone who is a fashion designer before. It can't be an easy profession to get into; you must be very talented."

The frown on Kurt's face smoothed out, but he was still a little stiff when he responded, "If you stay in New York long enough you're bound to meet people in the fashion industry, it is a big city in fashion after all."

The cool tone to his voice made a small spark of something close to panic flicker through Blaine. He rested his elbows on the table. "Kurt, I'm sorry if I offended you. I wasn't implying anything or- or making a mockery of your profession. I really was surprised." He stared beseechingly at Kurt, hoping he believed him. He hated that he may have unwittingly messed up, causing Kurt to dislike him after everything had been going so well.

A brief look of confusion flitted across Kurt's face as he gazed at Blaine, but it disappeared before Blaine could wonder about it. "It's fine," Kurt assured him with a small wave of his hand. "You didn't offend me, don't worry. It was just-" He broke off, shaking his head. "It's fine."

His friendly smile and tone were back. Blaine relaxed.

"What about you?" Kurt asked, swallowing a mouthful of coffee. "What do you do for a living?" he added at Blaine's questioning look.

Blaine drank some more coffee to give himself some thinking time. He decided to stick with the truth as much as he could, revealing as little detail as possible.

"I work alongside my father," he explained. "He runs a small law firm."

Kurt looked at him thoughtfully. "You look a little young to be a lawyer."

"I'm still at school for that, I go to college not far from where I live," he explained, hoping that Kurt wouldn't question his schooling anymore - he didn't know anything about colleges outside of New York City. "I work for my father part-time doing paperwork and the likes."

Kurt smiled. "At least you won't have to go job-hunting when you graduate."

Blaine returned his smile weakly. "Yes, it's useful that way.

Kurt noticed his lack of enthusiasm. "Do you not like working for your dad?"

"No, it's not that," Blaine said quickly, trying to smooth the discomfort from his expression. "I just don't particularly enjoy law, it was never what I wanted to pursue." He clamped his mouth shut and looked around nervously as soon as he realised what he'd said. He'd never admitted this to anyone but Wes before and here he was telling a complete stranger.

Setting his coffee down on the table, Kurt looked at Blaine in sympathy. "Pushy parents, huh? I know people who have been in the same boat as you. But you shouldn't let your parents tell you what to do with your life; they shouldn't force you to abandon your dreams."

"I never told them about my dreams," Blaine said in a small voice. "They asked me to do law and carry on the family business, so I did."

"And now you're unhappy," Kurt pointed out.

Blaine exhaled and tugged at the corner of his bowtie. "It's not that simple."

Kurt watched Blaine for a moment. "I know we've only just met, but let me give you some advice: talk to your parents about this, you're only setting yourself up for a life of regret and unhappiness if you stick with the life your parents want you to live instead of the one you want." He scooped up the satchel sitting by his chair and began rummaging in it. "Do you have the time?" he asked as Blaine absorbed what he'd just said. "I can't find my phone."

Perplexed as to why Kurt would have a phone in his bag, Blaine pulled out his pocket watch. "It's ten minutes to nine."

"You have a pocket watch?" Kurt noted in surprise. "I've never seen someone with one before."

Unsure what to say, Blaine simply smiled at him.

Kurt fastened up his satchel. "Sorry, but I'd better get going or I'll be late for work." He got to his feet, hooking the strap of his satchel over his shoulder. "It was nice talking to you." He seemed reluctant to leave.

Blaine smiled warmly, feeling as though he were deflating. "You, too."

Kurt turned to leave and paused. "Will you be back here tomorrow?"

Blaine hesitated. He wanted to say yes, wanted to know he could return to the café and see Kurt again, but he had no idea if he'd still be here tomorrow; he could be whisked back to his own time as suddenly as he arrived here.

"Maybe," he replied, then seeing Kurt's smile fade, added, "Hopefully."

Kurt nodded at him. "Then I'll hopefully see you tomorrow." With one last smile at Blaine he left the coffee shop, leaving Blaine hoping that he could stay at least until he got to see Kurt again.

"-and handsome and charming and sweet," Kurt gushed, throwing himself down on the couch. "He looks like one of those dapper young gentlemen in the black and white movies we watched on our last movie marathon."

Rachel watched Kurt from her spot on the armchair with a raised eyebrow. She looked partly amused and partly annoyed, though Kurt couldn't imagine why; she'd been in a good mood when he'd arrived home and while all he'd done since he'd stepped through the front door was gush about Blaine he figured he'd listened to Rachel go on about Finn often enough for him to have a turn.

"I just hope he comes tomorrow and he wasn't letting me down gently." He drummed his fingers on the arm of the couch and stared at the blank TV screen. "He's a little odd, though," he added musingly.

Out the corner of his eye he spotted Rachel sitting up straighter at this. "How so?" she wondered out loud.

Kurt shrugged. "He seemed reluctant and nervous whenever he talked about himself and he-" He thought about the way Blaine spoke, his manner, the way he dressed and held himself. He shrugged again. "Maybe he's just shy." He smiled as he remembered the adorable blush on Blaine's cheeks when Kurt had approached his table.

Rachel frowned. "What about Adam?"

Kurt's daydreaming about Blaine crashed to a halt at the sound of Rachel's question. "Adam?" he repeated blankly. He blinked at her until his mind pulled itself fully out of the memory of Blaine's smile. "We were never actually dating," he explained. "We only went out once or twice and it wasn't working. I was planning to tell him tonight." He resented Rachel's implication that he was fickle enough to forget about the guy he was seeing when he met someone new. He liked Adam, but there was nothing romantic between them; the couple of times they'd been out together felt like two friends hanging out. Blaine, on the other hand, he could see being different...

"You liked him well enough when I introduced you to him," Rachel sniffed. "Are you really throwing away your chance of something with him for some guy you met at a coffee shop who's probably only here on vacation?"

"He doesn't live far from here," Kurt protested. "Only in Connecticut. And he's here visiting a friend, actually."

"He's probably straight," Rachel pointed out.

Kurt scowled at her, suddenly feeling angry. "Why are you so determined for me not to see where it goes with this guy?"

Rachel sighed. "Because I don't want you to get hurt or lose Adam - a guy who really likes you - for something that might not even happen. You barely know this Blaine guy, how do you know he's not just leading you on?" When Kurt rolled his eyes in exasperation, she added, "And I thought you really liked Adam."

Kurt closed his eyes. "I only told you that because I was lonely. I only went out with Adam because I was lonely and wanted to see if it could work. He's a nice guy, but there's absolutely nothing romantic between us."

Rachel's mouth made an 'o' shape.

Kurt opened his eyes again. "And I've been hurt many times before; I'm used to it."

He got up and left, ignoring Rachel calling his name as he nudged his bedroom door closed behind him.