“Fuck, Rachel! You have no idea how much I hate you right this instant!” Kurt throws out the words as aggressively as he can manage in his sleep deprived state as his best friend (soon to be former if days like this one becomes the new normal) drags him down another non-descript Brooklyn Street.

“Oh, stop it you big baby! A little culture won’t kill you.”

“Um, excuse me,” Kurt replies indignantly. “Look who you’re talking to. I have seen just about every play on Broadway at the moment, I spend what little free time I have reading or frequenting art exhibitions and concerts. I am nothing if not sufficiently cultured.”

Instead of responding Rachel just tightens her hold on his hand and continues pulling him along at a rapid pace.

“Also, considering you woke me up at 6am on a Sunday – a Sunday, Rachel! – and the fact that we’re in an area that screams unsafe, I’m not quite as convinced as you seem to be that it won’t actually kill me.”

“And people say I’m the drama queen.”

Rachel lets out a sound of triumph as she stops outside a huge brown building filled with what looks like lofts, presses in a few digits on the lock pad and waits for whoever is at the other side to buzz them in. Together they walk the stairs in silence, and Kurt gives himself a pat on the back for forcing himself to go to the gym at least once a week. If he didn’t he ‘d most likely look like he’d ran a mile after walking those four flights of stairs in the summer heat that is currently making itself known in New York.

As they exit the stairway they reach a hallway with tall ceilings, interspersed with large black doors leading off to what Kurt assumes are lofts. Based on the signs on a lot of them most are used as ateliers by local artists. Kurt assumes that if not for the hour of the day, Rachel’s overly chirpy attitude at the prospect and the sweltering heat, he’d be intrigued by being able to see the place of creation for one of America’s up and coming artists. At least that’s what Rachel had called him when she dragged him out of bed earlier that morning.

As they reach the end of the hall, Rachel turns left and disappears through the door that Kurt sees holds a sign with ‘Anderson Art Exhibition’. As Kurt follows her through the door he can see that even with the sparse interior design of the room, the artist, this Anderson guy, has managed to arrange everything in a way that not only is aesthetically pleasing in and of its own, but beautifully presents and accentuates the couple of dozen drawings, photographs and paintings hung around the room.

Looking around Kurt notices the room is bigger than he had thought. As he inspects the area closer he can see that it must have originally been a wall separating two lofts around the middle of the room, mostly torn down to create a larger work space. Almost every part of the room is adorned with works of art, only a small corner is left to its own. There stands a couch and a small coffee table with a selection of finger food and a mug of water.

Feeling fatigued from his limited sleep and a need to petulantly annoy Rachel as revenge for dragging him here, Kurt doesn’t even take a second look at the art and heads directly to the couch where he plants himself, taking one of the oatmeal cookies to nibble on as he starts people watching.

The room isn’t exactly crowded. Kurt counts that, including him and Rachel, there are ten people in the room. Not bad for the time and location, Kurt muses. Rachel is standing on the far right side of the room observing a photograph of a beautiful ballerina. Next to her is a tall blond woman dressed in an elegant cocktail dress. Kurt stifles a laugh at the lady’s slightly bewildered look; Rachel is no doubt talking her ears off about her high school years as a ballet prodigy or something to that effect. Kurt has lost count of how many times he’s heard that story and others like it.

A little further down stood what looks to Kurt like a group of friends. He thinks they might be in their late teens, but no longer being one, Kurt finds determining age a lot more difficult than it once had been. The last three people in the room are stood in front of one of the largest pieces in the room.

At this point in his observations, Kurt forgets completely about the reason he started it to begin with. He barely registers the three people looking at him curiously as he moves as if in a trance over to the painting hanging in front of them, staring at it. It is one of the worst pieces of art Kurt has ever seen, yet he feels completely transfixed. The colors are all at their brightest hue, clashing violently with each other. The shapes are thrown together haphazardly with seemingly no consideration of composition or aesthetics. Kurt is shocked by how careless this piece seems compared to the rest. Though, he hasn’t really looked at the rest, has he? Doing just that he finally notices what he’s missed to begin with; the paintings are all bad in their own way. Some are the same haphazard combination of shapes and colors like the one in front of Kurt, while others are drawings of humans where proportions are all wrong. Even the photograph of the ballerina that Rachel still is studying, Kurt sees now, is clad in rags and could very easily be mistaken for homeless if not for the posture and elegance of the act of dancing. It baffles Kurt how the person who created this beautiful space to show his work could have no ability to transfer that beauty onto his canvas.

“Like what you see?”

Kurt has been so absorbed in his musings that ha hasn’t even registered the middle aged couple moving away, leaving only the beautiful stranger now standing in front of him, watching his startled (and slightly drooling) expression with amusement. Kurt mentally berates himself, and schools his expression. No matter how hot the guy is, that is no reason to become inarticulate. Besides, he has someone waiting for him at home. Kurt is pretty sure that even though it isn’t considered cheating, drooling over and ogling strangers at random art exhibits are considered questionable behavior unless you’re single.

“No, I don’t really,” he says as last, going into full critic mode. “The colors look like they have been thrown on the canvas at complete random without any care for harmony. Not to mention the shapes and proportions. You’d think the painter know nothing about the basics of composition.”

The stranger doesn’t say anything at first, just observes Kurt with a slightly curious expression. At last he speaks.

“You don’t assume that might have been the artist’s intention?”

“Well, I would have to assume so. The exhibit is so expertly put together, and you can see that the technique is definitely superb. Though what possessed them to create this when the alternative was within their capabilities confuses me to no end.”

“You’re a critic aren’t you?”

“No. Yes. Kind of.”

“So, which is it?” The man asks with a laugh that is dangerously close to making Kurt swoon.

“Kind of. It’s not as much what I am as what I aim to be one day when my boss decides to notice I’m capable of more than just getting her coffee and dry cleaning.”

“Ouch, that sucks.”

“Yeah.”

Kurt lets the word hang there, not really sure how to proceed with the conversation. Just as the stretch of silence is approaching awkward, Kurt is saved by the shrill voice of Rachel yelling that they should go if they want to make it back to Manhattan in time for their brunch reservations.

“Your friend, I presume?”

“You presume correctly. Although, if she keeps dragging me to Brooklyn every Sunday at dawn, the cohabitation clause in our proverbial friendship contract might need changing.”

As the man laughs, Kurt feels warmth spread through his entire body at the sound, and chastises himself. This is not proper behavior for someone in a committed relationship.

“Well, it was nice meeting you…” He lets the sentence hang as he realizes he doesn’t know the stranger’s name, and is supplies with ‘Blaine’ without any hesitation. “It was nice meeting you, Blaine.” With that he waves (and really, he couldn’t think of anything a little less lame than that?) and heads for the door where Rachel stands observing him and Blaine’s interaction with curiosity. He doesn’t get far before he is stopped in his track by Blaine catching his arm, sending electric currents soaring through his entire body at the touch. Forcing back his flustered expression he turns around to face him.

“Don’t I get to know your name too?”

Kurt feels a completely inappropriate giddiness at knowing this cute man wants to know his name, but does his best to control the grin he’s sure is threatening to break his face and answers.

“Of course. I’m Kurt.”

Blaine gives a radiant smile and a squeeze to the hand Kurt first now realizes he’s still holding.

“Nice to meet you too, Kurt.”

Sending back a shy smile, Kurt turns back around, hiding his goofy grin and fast approaching blush and forces himself to not look back as he exits the loft. He doesn’t even hear Rachel’s plethora of questions, he’s so lost in the feelings that touch and those eyes just awoke in him.