The Lima Bean quickly became Kurt’s place of refuge. Chandler had never expressed pleasure at visiting the quaint little coffeeshop – Kurt knew his boyfriend preferred the quality of Starbucks coffee – but there was something about the drowsy atmosphere of the Lima Bean that appealed to Kurt. He liked how it didn’t try too hard, like brand names did – sometimes the barista messed up his order and he had to stare at her until she turned towards him again, and he listed out his complaints. Sometimes the muffins weren’t baked fully, and the insides were still raw; sometimes his to-stay mug had a faint lingering stain on the rim that he studiously avoided placing his mouth on. Kurt didn’t like too much chaos, as a general rule – his distaste at how William Schuester ran the Glee club was telling enough. But he, of all people, appreciated how the Lima Bean put itself out there and said, in not so many words: this is what we are, and we’re not perfect. But we’re unique.

And it was true. Kurt knew no place else where he could sample raspberry chocolate bagels, and even if the product was actually painfully disgusting, at least the establishment wasn’t afraid to try. The Lima Bean wasn’t tiny by any stretch of imagination, but it certainly had a smaller clientele than bigger chains. Kurt liked the hominess of the place too, the way the baristas took special efforts to learn his name and smile at him, occasionally slipping him extra biscotti or a muffin on the house.

Kurt went there whenever Chandler texted him with a long-winded apology about why he couldn’t make a date – his theater group was having extra rehearsals and he simply couldn’t let them down, his father had demanded his presence at his office party and he couldn’t refuse, his friends were conducting a fundraiser for the local elderly people’s home and he couldn’t not do anything. In fact, Kurt noticed, Chandler had a serious problem with saying ‘no’. It was sweet, in a way, but he rarely thought of it as endearing when he was left to his own devices on a Friday night, his friends all out on dates and his only companion a chilled mocha. His father was so excited about him going out with Chandler(even though Burt Hummel was not a man of obvious emotion), especially since his own romance with Carole was blossoming so spectacularly. Kurt very rarely had to plead out of Friday night dinners when Chandler was involved – Burt was fond of his boyfriend, even if he did sometimes eye Chandler’s more fabulous outfits with askance. And so Kurt would sit at his favourite table, plastic cup in hand, and people watch.

He would never admit to himself that there was a secondary reason to why he frequented the Lima Bean. It had been three months since he’d met Blaine of Dalton Academy, and he hadn’t seen him since. With no method to contact the boy, Kurt had been reduced to fruitless Facebook searches. Apparently, Blaine Dalton did not possess a Facebook. He had attempted to research the Dalton a cappella group as well, but all he’d pulled up was a name – the Warblers. The Warblers were, it appeared, incredibly secretive. The only way to examine the names of the members was by logging into the school site, and Kurt’s computer hacking skills were hardly something to boast about. Besides, he told himself every time he even contemplated the idea, that was creepy. Blaine was just some guy. Just some guy he’d met at a random coffee shop, and he wouldn’t be more. There was no chance he would be more. And maybe, considering the funny squirming in his stomach, that was best.

It was a Wednesday afternoon, however, when he spotted the familiar blazer. Excitement welled inside him, and Kurt was up before he could stop himself. “Blaine!” he called, stepping forward and immediately wincing as the other boy turned.

It was stupid. It was impulsive, and Kurt was never impulsive. He planned things out, conducted his business in a very deliberate fashion. He’d been so ridiculously caught up in the familiarity of the Dalton blazer that he hadn’t noticed that the boy in question was certainly taller than Blaine – taller even than himself, Kurt noted as he reluctantly drew closer. The boy’s hair was lighter than Blaine’s too, and more closely cropped. A mischievous smirk played on his face as Kurt stopped a foot away, his mouth twisted uncomfortably.

“I thought you were-“ Kurt began, anxious to correct his mistake – because even if this wasn’t Blaine(it clearly wasn’t Blaine), perhaps he would know of the boy. At this moment, Kurt would take almost anything. The week so far had been a bad one – Chandler had cancelled on two successive dates, Karofsky had been a nightmare at school, and Rachel Berry had stolen yet another of his solos – and he remembered how carefree Blaine had made him feel. He could use a laugh.

“I know,” the Dalton boy interrupted, his smirk widening. “You thought I was Blaine.” He shrugged his bony shoulders, tipping his head to one side and eyeing Kurt knowingly. “Sorry, sweet cheeks – I’m not the guy. I’m Sebastian Smythe.” The smirk acquired a hard edge. “Blaine’s boyfriend.”