Kurt tried his best to keep it together until he could get home.  He pulled out of the parking lot safely and he almost made it out of campus intact until he saw the Harvard logo on the main sign and broke down because Sam goes to Harvard.

Those tears had almost dried when his phone started buzzing, showing that Mercedes was calling.  And suddenly the floodgates were opened again because she was calling to see if he had won Sam back yet.

He couldn’t go back to the apartment, not with the memories and pictures on the walls.  Instead of turning down his street Kurt drove straight past, following signs to the city.

He barely made it into Boston proper (Sam lives in Boston) before he had to pull over, wiping at his eyes with both hands.  After a while his sobs grew fewer and father between and his vision cleared enough to see, and Kurt saw that he was parked on a section of quaint downtown with bright awnings of local shops lining the street.  He was looking around eagerly, as he always loved the more charming home-grown sections of cities, when a flash of bright pink caught his eye.

The storefront just behind and across the road from him was indeed pink, the round awning somewhere between flamingo and bubble gum and the words posted above definitely carnation.  Gold Star the sign read in huge curlicue letters, an actual gold star punctuating the space between the two words.  Kurt was almost appalled at the amount of a single syrupy color in one little area until he saw the fluorescent pink outline of a coffee cup in the window.  He threw the car door open, narrowly missing an SUV that was barreling past, and sprinted across the street towards the ostentatious storefront, aiming his car remote over his shoulder to lock it.

 He opened the shop door and stepped through, a tinkling bell overhead announcing his entrance and the cool conditioned air hitting him like a solid wall.  Inside, the store was covered in even more pink, every shade gracing the walls, the tables, the icing on top of the sweets in the glass display case.  Kurt closed his eyes against the wash of garish pink, trying to adjust to so much cheer when it felt like his heart was imploding in his chest.

“Good afternoon!  How can I help you?” a voice rang – no, sang – out, just as happy as the pink on the walls.

Kurt didn’t even open his eyes.  “A nonfat mocha, the biggest one you’ve got.  Also the most sugary sweet you have, preferably something with so much chocolate I might go into a coma.  Please.”

When he got no response he opened one eye, stepping back nervously when big brown eyes crowded his vision.  The petite young woman in front of him was like a confection herself— shiny brown straight bangs, glowing tanned brown skin, cotton candy pink apron and downturned frosted pink lips.  Her hair was up in a complicated circular braid, one that Kurt had never quite mastered and would never master now that he had no willing sorority sisters on which to practice.  The thought of the Delta Nus brought him to tears again.

“Don’t cry!  I’ll get you your coffee and one of my famous crescendo cupcakes and you can tell me all about it, okay?” she said softly.  With a gentle touch on his elbow she guided him to the table closest to the counter, the surface inset with a baby pink glass mosaic and flanked by two plush magenta chairs.  Kurt didn’t protest as he sobbed over the inevitable conversation he would have with Mercedes and Tina and oh god Britt to tell them that he failed right from the beginning, getting ridiculed in class and by Sam’s new girlfriend.

His pity party was interrupted by the blessed appearance of a giant mug of hot coffee and the biggest cupcake he had ever seen.  It was sitting on a ceramic plate (pink, of course) and decorated with a fondant gold star on the mound of soft white icing.

The young woman, who Kurt could now see was wearing a cream lace dress that fully cemented her Neapolitan ice cream color scheme, hesitated next to the other chair.  Kurt nodded as he eagerly pounced on the coffee.

She sat down across from him, smoothing her dress out as she did.  Kurt took a sip and felt the warmth spread all the way to the tips of his toes and ease his aching heart just a tiny, tiny bit. 

“Thank you so much, ah,” Kurt started, remembering too late that he didn’t yet know her name.

“Rachel Berry,” she said formally, holding out her right hand.  Kurt set the mug down carefully to return the handshake, the ghost of a smile almost-but-not-quite forming at her strange formality.  He saw the tag on her apron now, where her full name was embellished with several gold star stickers.  Kurt wondered if she shouldn’t just introduce herself as Rachel Berry Gold Star.

“Well, Rachel Berry, thank you very much.  I must say, your coffee is excellent.”

Rachel smiled, obviously flattered, and waved away his compliment.  “Wait until you try the cupcake!  Don’t mention it, I learned from the best.”  The smile slipped off her face suddenly, a wistful look taking its place.

Kurt was curious, but he didn’t mention it.  He picked up the silver fork on the plate – Real plates and real silverware? – peeled back the wrapper, and dug in, the velvety brown of the cake a stark contrast to the pale icing.  Rachel was watching him expectantly as he brought the fork to his mouth.

“Oh my god,” he moaned around the bite of cupcake, surprised by how exquisite it was.

Rachel’s smile could only be described as radiant.  “That’s dark chocolate cocoa powder in the cake, imported from Switzerland, and white chocolate bark melted and whipped into the icing and shaved on top.  And of course the milk chocolate mousse in the center, that’s the best part!”

Kurt showed his interest by shoveling half the cupcake into his mouth at once, making sure she could hear his enjoyment.

“That’s why I call it Three-Part Harmony,” she continued.  “I take three notes of chocolate and blend them together to make something beautiful.”

Kurt nodded his agreement, using his fork to pick up the crumbs on the edge of the pink plate.

Blaine tugged for the fiftieth time on the collar of his dress shirt.  He immensely hated the required suit and tie to fit the dress code of the swanky restaurant in downtown Boston at which his father always insisted they eat.

He watched the clock warily, unwilling to leave his air conditioned car until the very last second.  At 12:28 he begrudgingly opened the door and let in the summer heat.

Frantically he tried to smooth out the wrinkles in his shirt, but to no avail.  Richard Anderson would just have one more thing to complain about today.

At the last minute Blaine remembered to silence his phone, the consequences of it ringing at the previous lunch still fresh in his mind.  12:29. He slipped on the suit jacket required for entrance, cursing the way it made his sticky skin even more uncomfortable but appreciating the way it covered his rumpled shirt.

Blaine nodded at the maître d’, who knew Blaine well enough that he didn’t even ask for his name.  Blaine was privately embarrassed when he realized he didn’t know the name of the maître d’.

With one last steadying breath he moved into the dining area, his father already seated at their regular table.

“So,” Rachel began, drawing out the O and trailing off with an expectant look.

He swallowed quickly.  “Kurt,” he offered over his raised mug.

“Kurt,” she repeated, smiling triumphantly.  Kurt took another sip of mocha, the chocolate still in his mouth making the coffee taste even better.  “Bad day?” she asked gently, leaning in.

“More like a series of bad decisions,” Kurt replied sadly, tracing the lip of the mug with one finger.

Rachel made a little noise with her tongue, one that Kurt imagined his own mother had made whenever he was particularly difficult.  That thought made his heart ache in a different way.  He took another bite of cupcake, willing the chocolate to make everything better.  It helped, as incredibly sugary foods usually do, but only a little.

She seemed to take his silence as an invitation to talk.  “Bad decisions,” she echoed. “Hmm.  I think I could give you a run for your money on that one.”  A bitter, dark look crossed her face.

Kurt stayed silent, waiting for her to go on.

“But,” Rachel seemed to concede, looking around the room with a fond smile, “even bad decisions have a way of leading to good things.  Sometimes great things.”

He took the bait.  “The shop, you mean?”

Rachel sighed heavily, spreading her arms out as if to encompass the building as a whole. 

“Yes, Gold Star Bakery and Coffee Shop, my pride and joy, my home, the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about at night.”  After stretching to the limit, she dropped both arms and crumpled a little.  “It’s kind of like my child, husband, and life all rolled into one, isn’t it?”  

Kurt knew it wasn’t a question to which she expected an answer, but he nodded sympathetically anyway.

“It really is,” she answered herself, “because it’s pretty much the only thing I have anymore.”

Kurt was beginning to realize that Rachel Berry was a very dramatic person, but even he couldn’t be cynical enough to dismiss the real pain she seemed to be feeling.  He shoved away the pink plate, completely clean but for the pale pink cupcake wrapper, and took Rachel’s hand into his.  It was a simple gesture really, just a force of habit from his days in the over-emotional Delta Nu house, but Rachel was suddenly clinging to him like he was a lifesaver and she was sinking fast.  Her eyelashes sparkled with tears but she was smiling gratefully, and Kurt squeezed back to show his support.

“When I said bad decisions,” she continued, her voice a little shaky but clear, “I guess I really meant unfortunate decisions.  If you went back and asked any of my high school classmates where I was right now, the answer would not be ‘the owner of a struggling Boston bakery.’  In high school, I was a little… dramatic.”  Kurt nearly laughed aloud at her echoing his thoughts.  At least she’s aware of it.

Rachel smiled wider, having seen his almost-chuckle.  “Maybe I’m still a little dramatic.  But at age sixteen, I was bound and determined to be a star.  I had a plan, too.  I would be on Broadway in my younger days, originating the best roles and winning the Best Actress Tony every year.  Then I would star in a movie musical or two, written just for me of course.  I would have a best-selling tell-all biography, a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, retire in a mansion in the Hamptons with a selection of handsome young lovers…”

Kurt cleared his throat, raising his eyebrows.

“Yes I know, get to the point Rachel.  Well, after high school graduation I was bound for New York City to start making those dreams a reality.  And as I see now in hindsight, I probably would have succeeded if it weren’t for Jesse St. James.”

Blaine burst through the door of the pristine restroom with more force than he intended.  The attendant flinched horribly, clutching at his heart.  Blaine wilted a little as shame bled through his anger.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I just—” Blaine tried to explain, but the attendant just held up a hand.

“If you please, Mr. Anderson, I’ll just be outside.”  And with that the man edged past a stunned Blaine and left him alone in the shiny tile washroom.

Blaine stood still until the bathroom door clicked shut.  Then he viciously kicked the thing closest to him, which happened to be the door of a stall.

Blaine cursed loudly as his toes hit the heavy door wrong.  He limped to inspect the stall closer; it wasn’t wood or plastic like he had foolishly assumed, but was made out of something like granite.  No wonder he had nearly broken a toe.

Blaine sighed, lifting a hand to run it through his hair before he remembered the excess of gel he had used that morning to tame his particularly bad bedhead. He threw his hand back down with more force than necessary, wincing at the rustle of too many layers of fabric against his skin. 

Finally he turned to the mirror, trying to find some pretense for staying in the blissful isolation of the bathroom for just a little bit longer.  Gripping the edge of the counter with both hands, Blaine stared into his own eyes until the hot adrenaline began to ebb.  Now that he had stopped moving he could hear the way his harsh panting breaths echoed off the shiny walls.

He doesn’t mean it.  You’re taking it the wrong way.  You can survive this lunch.

He stared himself down, his heartbeat, his breathing, and the throbbing in his toe calming a little at a time, until he was nearly back to normal. 

Blaine glanced down at his watch.  His three minutes of acceptable bathroom break were almost over.

He straightened his tie and checked his reflection one last time; though tired and defeated, he was acceptable.

The washroom attendant was, true to his word, waiting right outside the door.  Blaine slipped him a twenty and another apology as he passed.

“Jesse and I met back in high school.  He was older than me by a year, and he went to a high school a few towns over.  From the first moment I met him I knew we would be fantastic together.  He was the lead singer of Vocal Adrenaline, a multiple-National-title-winning glee club, and I—”

“Wait.”  Kurt pulled his hand back from hers so that he could press both his palms firmly to his temples.  “Vocal Adrenaline?  Of Carmel High School?  In Ohio?”

“Well yes, of course!  They won Nationals eight times in a row before someone finally knocked them off their pedestal.  I wish it had been our glee club, but McKinley wasn’t exactly the breeding ground for young musical theatre hopefuls and we could never get the twelve members needed to compete.  I had to subsist on horribly-ran school musicals and community theatre, but experience is experience all the same.  Uh, Kurt?”

Kurt was speechless, his mind reeling with this new information.  She was from Ohio, a terrible backwards state he luckily escaped before it could break him.  And McKinley—

“You’re from Ohio,” he said finally.

Her concerned face grew more pronounced, and Kurt knew she was thinking he had gone off the deep end.  “Yes.”

“Where…?”  The sick feeling in his stomach betrayed the fact that he already knew the answer.

“Lima, Ohio?  I graduated from William McKinley High School.  But that’s not important to the story, I was just saying that Jesse and I—”

Kurt cut her off for the second time.  “Oh my god, Rachel, focus.  I’m Kurt, Kurt Hummel.  You know, um, Burt Hummel’s son.”

Her eyes widened and she slapped a hand over her mouth.  Kurt waited, not sure of what she would say to that.

“You’re talking about Burt Hummel, the man who almost single-handedly bankrupted the famous Sylvester family and nearly tore apart Lima for good?  That Burt Hummel?”

“Well, you don’t have to say it like that,” Kurt grumbled, folding his arms across his chest, closing down.  He knew he could walk out of the shop and never see her again, but it didn’t stop it from hurting to know that people from Lima still thought about his family like that.

“No, no!” she said frantically, her hands reaching for him again, but he kept his arms crossed firmly.  “What I meant, Kurt, god—I’ve just, that’s what I always heard.  I was long gone when the scandal broke loose.  God, you couldn’t have been more than just a kid, right?”

“I was fourteen,” he said stiffly.  “I was fourteen and my world fell apart.  My father nearly died, I was nearly orphaned from a stupid accident that could have been prevented if Sue Sylvester hadn’t blatantly ignored the safety codes.  And when we tried to get retribution and justice for what had been done to us, the entire town turned their backs on us.  The bullying at school got so bad I had to be homeschooled while the trial played out.” 

Kurt wiped impatiently at the furious and frustrated tears that were falling fast, his breath coming in little gasps.  “My father had barely finished two horrible years of surgeries and physical therapy rounds when our lives had to be uprooted and moved to California so that we wouldn’t have our tires slashed or windows broken anymore, so that I could go to a school where hateful ignorance wouldn’t follow me wherever I went.  So excuse me for taking just a little offense to your comment.” 

Rachel was crying, too, both hands pressed firmly to her heart.  “Oh, Kurt,” she whispered, and Kurt couldn’t help but sob a little.  Now they were both dramatic messes.

She stood suddenly, hovering at his left shoulder.  “Can I hug you?” she said quietly, twisting her fingers and rocking on her heels in meek anticipation.  At Kurt’s nod she reached forward and enveloped him securely.

Her embrace brought a fresh wave of tears along with the phantom feelings of hugs from Tina, Mercedes, Britt, his father.  But it was more than that; she smelled so comforting, like flour and cinnamon and fresh baked something, a scent that tugged deep on his childhood memories of baking with his mom.  And then there was something that was so uniquely Rachel, the quiet hum in his ear and the damp press of her eyelashes on his cheek.

She pulled away but left her hands on his shoulders, making sure he was looking at her.

“Kurt.  I am so sorry.  I thought I had learned to leave that stupid Lima way of thinking behind me, but I guess not.  I’m so sorry for speaking without thinking and I’m sorry for talking about you and your father when I don’t even know you.  But Kurt, wow.  What are the odds of us meeting here?”

Kurt shook his head, smiling now.  “I don’t know about that, Rachel, but I’m glad we did.  I accept your apology.  Please, tell me about Jesse.  I’m sorry to have gotten you sidetracked.”

She settled back into her chair, smoothing her dress again.

“Well my story looks pretty pathetic now compared to that revelation,” she said with a laugh, but plunged into it anyway.

“Well, Jesse and I had a bit of a rocky relationship in high school, but he showed up at my graduation and made the sweetest speech about how we needed to be together, how we could take on New York City together.”  Her smile turned wry and sad.  “I should have known better when he also told me that he was leaving UCLA because he flunked out of their show choir program, but I was so silly and so in love.”

Kurt nodded sadly, knowing the feeling of being blindsided by love.

“So we moved to New York City.  It was amazing, more than I could have ever imagined.” 

Her eyes got big and sparkly, her focus on something far away, and Kurt could hear the reverence in her voice when she talked about living her dreams.  “I had already decided to skip college and go straight to auditioning, mostly on Jesse’s praise and insistence that I didn’t need to study musical theatre when I could just be doing musical theatre.  That wasn’t my first mistake, and it certainly wouldn’t be my last.

“So we moved into a shabby little apartment,” she continued, “and we both started auditioning.  I started getting parts right away; nothing big, always ensemble, but it was work and I loved it.  Jesse was out there too, and for a few years it was perfect.  We weren’t rich and we weren’t winning Tonys, but we were performing every day and it was exactly what I always wanted.  Until it wasn’t.”  She paused to swallow thickly, her faraway look now troubled. 

“Jesse landed a big part in a risky new musical, and I guess he kind of put all his eggs in one basket.  When the show got cut after the first week of previews, he was a mess.  And then he started the process all over again.  He was constantly out auditioning, making phone calls, getting his picture and resume out there.  Only this time, it wasn’t working.  No one was calling back.  I knew he was trying, and I did everything I could to make him feel like he was wanted and loved.  But then I’ve never been his first love.  That honor has always been bestowed to the spotlight.”

Kurt grabbed her hand again, squeezing it tightly when her breathing started to become uneven.

“I’m sorry for crying again.” Rachel laughed a little, but there was no joy in the sound.  “It was so hard, living with him at that time.  He started waiting tables, making coffee, whatever he could do to pay his half of the rent that he refused to let me pay, ever.  I was starting to get better parts, too.  I had worked my way up to off-Broadway productions and instead of ensemble I was playing a character with an actual name!”  She smiled again, but it was just a movement of lips, the only emotion behind it longing. 

Blaine wasn’t surprised that his father took a phone call in the middle of their lunch.  He wasn’t even surprised that it was right in the middle of his recounting of Sebastian’s terrorizing speech.  What was surprising was how much it hurt. 

Without even so much as an I’ve got to take this Richard stood and went for the door, work phone in hand.  Blaine was mid-sentence, forced to finish his thought to the empty air.

Though his father had disappointed him a million times, this one struck Blaine anew.  He had thought that after two weeks of having to postpone their lunches this one would be better.  They had twenty whole days of life to catch up on from each other, and Blaine found he was almost looking forward to seeing his father after so long. 

No such luck.  The lunch had been stilted, with his father wasting no time in dominating conversation and making Blaine feel two inches tall, just like he always did.

I will not cry in this restaurant.

Blaine snuck a look at his phone for a distraction, knowing he couldn’t use a bathroom excuse again.

From: Big Bro
Keep your chin up, Squirt.

He scowled at the text.  He could never hate his brother-- in fact, a lot of times Cooper had taken heat from their father for Blaine-- but sometimes Blaine couldn’t stop his bottled-up frustration.  It was so easy to think that if it wasn’t for Cooper there would be no reason to have to keep his chin up.  If they weren’t in constant comparison, Cooper set as an impossibly high standard that he was expected to follow, Blaine wouldn’t be the second favorite son.

“Put that away, Blaine.”

Blaine jumped at the sudden reappearance of his father, locking the screen on his half-written message to Cooper.

“Sorry, Dad,” Blaine apologized, stuffing the phone back in his pocket before he could try to take it away.

“You know how I hate that, Blaine, it’s rude.  Your brother never forgot his manners like that.”

Blaine focused on the beads of water chasing each other down his glass and, not for the first time, wished he couldn’t hear.

Kurt gripped his now-empty mug tightly, not anxious to hear the rest of the story that had to end with Rachel sitting here in Boston, clutching his hand and holding back tears.

“It was just over five years in New York with Jesse in that tiny apartment when one day he came in and he was happier than I had seen him in almost a year.  His eyes were sparkling, and he was smiling like I remembered from high school.  He launched right into telling me about this huge opportunity he had gotten.  The director from his failed musical had called Jesse specifically to help him spearhead a big up-and-coming theatre group.  I was so excited for him I was practically jumping up and down and ready to launch myself out onto the fire escape to yell it to the whole city, when he told me the most important detail.”

“It was in Boston,” Kurt supplied, not even bothering to ask.  Someone like Rachel Berry could only be lured away from the theatre by one thing: the promise of true love.

“Yes.  I cried for days, Kurt, you don’t even know—”

 I think I have a pretty good idea, he thought as her tears started falling as if right on cue. 

“—and I cut myself off from everyone to try and figure out what I loved more, Jesse or performing.  And I chose Jesse.”

Kurt wanted to cry himself.  “But you said… Jesse chose the stage?”

Rachel nodded sadly, leaving the tears on her face undisturbed.  “In Boston, it was like the old Jesse was back.  He was happy, he was in charge, he was in his element, he felt validated and needed, and I know now that none of that was because of me.  But I was happy for him, I really was.  While he was off discovering himself again I was adjusting to Boston the best I could, though a lot of the first days involved crying in our admittedly much nicer apartment while he was at the theatre all day.  On just the second or third day that I ventured out into the city, I found this place.”  Rachel looked around, a genuine but tiny smile lifting her lips.

Kurt followed her gaze, wondering if the enthusiastic Pepto-Bismol dousing had been her doing, or if she had discovered it this way.

“It wasn’t as modern then.  Or as pink,” she mused.  Kurt was startled into a laugh at Rachel seeming to read his thoughts again, and her smile widened.  “The owner was the loveliest woman I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet.  Gigi was her name, Gigi Stewart.  She never would tell me what Gigi was short for, but I found out eventually.  Guinevere, which I think is a perfectly lovely name.”

Kurt raised an eyebrow, and Rachel got the message.

“Anyways, Gigi was older, edging on sixty when I first met her.  That first day I came in she sat me down, gave me the best chocolate chip cookie I’ve ever had, and she actually listened to me.  That was something that Jesse never did.  I didn’t realize before that leaving New York would mean leaving all my friends, and it was the most amazing act of fate that led me to her.  And Gigi wasn’t just a friend.  She was like the mother I never had.”

Suddenly it was like all the air was sucked out of the room and Kurt felt so bad for asking but he just had to know.

“I have two gay dads,” Rachel said proudly just as Kurt was opening his mouth.  After gaping for a second Kurt shut it quickly because he hadn’t expected that at all.  His free hand twitched in his surprise and knocked the mug forward, but thankfully Rachel didn’t notice.  An openly gay couple in Lima, Ohio raising a daughter like Rachel Berry?  He could never have imagined such a thing if he hadn’t known it to be true.

 “…And my birth mother wasn’t interested in reconnecting with a teenager.  It was Jesse who helped lead me to her, too,” she mused quietly, dropping her train of thought.  Kurt squeezed her hand quickly.

“But Gigi, she was incredible.  Her husband had died ten years before, and her kids had all grown up and left her, not one of the five wanting to stay and take over the bakery from her.  Gigi and I were like kindred spirits, bonding over music and dreams and following love instead of ambition.  She wanted to be an airline stewardess,” Rachel clarified, “but she learned to bake instead so she could stay home with Ralph and raise a family.  So romantic, right?”

Kurt wasn’t sure that it was, but he could tell that Gigi meant a lot to Rachel.

“So I started coming here every single day.  In the mornings I would visit Jesse at the theatre, sometimes  I would look for auditions in the area, and most of the time I would just look at pictures from New York and cry.  But after lunch I would come here, and Gigi would feed me and rub my back while I vented and never ever let me pay.  Then one day she started letting me go into the back with her and learn to bake.  We started with those chocolate chip cookies and the next thing I knew I was painting on cakes that I had personally baked, frosted, and covered with fondant.  Gigi was an excellent teacher and once I started seeing what I could make with my hands I wanted to do it all.  Eventually she hired me, just like that, and I was here at 4:30 every morning to help her bake, working until close at 9 pm.  I loved every minute of it.”

Rachel was so happy, remembering, that it was especially jarring when her face fell.

“After two years with the Boston Theatre Company, Jesse left the director job.  The story I got was ‘creative differences,’ but knowing Jesse as I do, he was probably fired for suggesting one too many times that they do Into the Woods or staring at himself in the mirror more than directing.”

“You sound a little bitter,” Kurt said quietly, off-put by the nastiness cutting through her usual bubbly tone.

“When he came home to give me the news, I had no idea what would happen.  I thought maybe he’d try for another job here, maybe he would want to move back to New York together, or maybe we’d wait here until another offer came in and then follow it.  What did happen is that he dumped me.  He told me he was moving back to New York in a month, but in the meantime I had to get out of our apartment.”

Kurt sucked in a breath, shocked by the unabashed cruelty. “Oh, you poor thing,” he breathed, placing his free hand over their joined ones.

“I was devastated.  I yelled, I cried, I think I begged at one point, but that’s when I finally realized that even after ten years Jesse and I would never be together, not the way I wanted us to be.  He would never be able to put me above his career, even though I’d made that exact sacrifice for him.”

Kurt squeezed her hand tightly, trying to convey without words how sorry he was.

“And now I’m almost to the end of this sad story, I promise,” Rachel insisted, wiping at her tears.  “Long story short, Gigi took me in and I moped for a long time.  I was just getting back on my feet when a low, low blow happened: Gigi died.”  The tears were thicker than ever now.

“I found out that she left me the bakery in her will, and so here we are.  I cleaned out the storage upstairs and turned it into my apartment.  I baked for five days straight out of grief and then sold it all in two.  Gold stars have always kind of been my thing, and Gigi called me Star even before she knew that.  I figured she wouldn’t mind if I took the liberty of rebranding the shop.” 

Kurt smiled when Rachel did, the last of her tears shining in her eyes.

“One more thing, and then you’re going to tell me about your day,” Rachel began, fixing him with her best stern glare.  Kurt’s chest twisted up in pain all over again.

“Working here,” she continued, not noticing Kurt’s agony, “is the most fulfilling thing I’ve ever done in my life.  I spent so many years only worried about myself, I went through high school with everyone hating me, and I spent almost ten years in a relationship with a guy who dumped me when I interfered with his narcissism.  I’m too old to try for Tonys now and no one will ever want to read my biography, but now with my own two hands I make little masterpieces, and I get to give them to other people and watch their faces light up with joy.  I get to talk to all kinds of people from all walks of life, meet them and experience a slice of their life.  Sometimes I even meet exceptional people,” she added, squeezing Kurt’s hand and smiling softly.

“I love this job, I do, even if it’s not what anyone who knew me growing up expected from me, even if it’s not what I expected from myself.”  The conviction in her words was clear, but Kurt could tell there was an exception coming.  “But I just feel so alone here.  I spend my day working to make everyday lives just a little bit shinier, and at the end of the day I climb those stairs alone and I go to bed alone knowing that I didn’t make a lasting connection to anyone, all day long.  And I’ve never had anyone to tell that to, so I’m telling you now.”

Kurt realized he was crying too.  He opened his mouth to say something to make her feel better, to tell her that she wasn’t alone.

“I moved here from California to follow a guy,” Kurt blurted.  Rachel’s eyebrows disappeared under her blunt bangs.

“I got into Harvard Law School at the last minute and moved across the country to follow my bisexual ex-boyfriend, who, I found out today, now has a rich, preppy girlfriend.  Wow, it sounds even more pathetic out loud.”

Rachel was comforting him now, bringing her other hand to complete their pile of clutching fingers.  “Kurt, I had no idea.  That’s terrible.”

“I worked so hard to get into Harvard, I sacrificed everything to move to Massachusetts, and now I’m going to lose Sam to a bottled-blonde reincarnation of Grace Kelly.  It’s not fair.”

Rachel clicked her tongue gently then startled as the bell over the shop door rang.  Kurt recoiled too, having forgotten where they were.

“Don’t worry, we’ll come up with a plan,” Rachel said with a smile as she got up to greet the customer.

I like the sound of “we,” Kurt thought as the burden on his heart lightened by half, now shared with someone else.

Leaving the restaurant was like coming up for air after a long dive.  Blaine drove his usual circuit through Harvard’s campus and many of the neighborhoods nearby, compressing everything his father said into a tiny box and shoving it in the dark corner of his mind to which he tried to never go.  He couldn’t erase the words, but he could choose to ignore them.  When the fight against bursting into tears was finally won, Blaine drove home.

He blessedly shed the awful black suit, grateful to put something on with actual color and pattern.  Just methodically rolling up the cuffs of his gold pants did an enormous service to help Blaine get back into a good place.  He felt much better as he hung the suit jacket and pants back on the rack, hoping they would be minimally wrinkled for next week’s lunch.  As he closed his closet doors and so shut the door on the person he had to be around his father, Blaine finally thought about Kurt.

At first he hadn’t texted Kurt to check on him because he couldn’t, not with the lunch.  Now that he was more than capable, Blaine had completely overthought the situation.  It didn’t help that the only reason Blaine had Kurt’s number was through the focus group program, a way for Blaine to coordinate study groups and find out who was supposed to bring the donuts.

Definitely not intended to be used for personal reasons.

In a lot of ways Blaine didn’t even know why he cared so much.  He didn’t know much about Kurt and it probably wasn’t even Blaine’s place to make sure he was okay. 

On the other hand, Blaine absolutely knew why he cared.  It was beyond Kurt’s general well-being; it was like Blaine had seen himself in Kurt’s rejection.  Blaine knew so well what it felt like to run from problems, and he knew what it felt like once the running was over and everything caught up.

His mind was made up.  But how to go about it? 

Text message?  Too impersonal. 

Email?  Way too impersonal. 

Phone call?  What do I say?  “Hey, I saw you get rejected today and I called to see if you were crying about that”?

Blaine cringed at the thought.  No, no, and no.  He had to do it face-to-face, and there was no way around it.

He pulled the info sheet closer, peering at Kurt’s section.  Under his phone number and email there was an address and an apartment number.

Blaine typed the address into his phone’s GPS and grabbed his keys as he waited for it to give him directions. The car door was open and Blaine had one foot inside before he looked at the phone screen again.  Huh.  The GPS was telling him that he was already at the destination. 

He looked again at the address in his hand, and realized that it was familiar; it was the same address on the bills that came to his apartment.  Blaine had never bothered to memorize his address because he only had to give it to companies that wanted his money, instead choosing to copy it off the post-it note above his desk whenever it was necessary.

So he and Kurt lived in the same apartment complex.  Blaine enjoyed a little burst of pleasure over that as he slammed the car door and locked it back.  He practically danced through the parking lot, bouncing all the way around building 2.

Halfway to building 1 Blaine remembered that he didn’t actually know where he was going.  He paused long enough to read the address for the third time.  223.  Something about the numbers was prickling the edges of his consciousness, bringing up a memory that was just out of reach.  Blaine wondered if he had known someone to live in that apartment before Kurt, but he couldn’t come up with an answer for that either.

Second building, second floor, apartment 3, he recited the apartment numbering system as he ran up the stairs of building 2.   It wasn’t until Blaine was looking at the brass numbers on the apartment door that the memory finally pulled free from the dredges of his mind.

A Ryder truck.  Boxes everywhere.  Crowds of people.  Haze of anger.  Fierce instinct to defend. 

Blaine looked to the parking lot in disbelief, trying to find something solid to tie down the memory to reality, almost wishing he wouldn’t see—a tiny blue car. If that didn’t confirm his questions, the California license plate attached to it did.

A series of sharp barks from behind the apartment door made him whip his head back.  A tiny brown dog.  And, holding that dog...

“The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Blaine said out loud as he tried to piece everything together in his mind.  He backed up quickly from where he had been about to knock, trying to file away the thoughts that had suddenly become a jumbled mess.  He knew the Kurt that was Kurt Hummel, his focus group member and academic protégé.  But he had found that Kurt was also Kurt, optimistic to the disastrous fault of surprising his oblivious ex-boyfriend in the courtyard.  And now Kurt was Mr. 223, the mysterious and magnificent man that Blaine had nearly forgotten about. 

The details of the day were blurred, but Blaine could remember the emotions.  An attractive stranger had been unapologetically himself, willingly oblivious to the judgments of others.  Blaine had been angry before he spotted him, he remembered that, but that anger doubled when coupled with a sudden intense urge to protect.

Even as Blaine was ready to rip the onlookers apart, the stranger had been unfazed.  He had ignored every stare and catcall and finished the job he needed to do.  Where Blaine’s first instinct was to fight for equal treatment, this man had been content to let people think what they wanted and didn’t let it change what he did. 

It wasn’t until Blaine was frantically pacing outside Apartment 223 that he realized why the chance encounter affected him so much that he could still remember—it was everything that Blaine had never been able to be, everything that he still didn’t have the guts to do.  Just as Blaine had been going to vent his frustration from fighting to be himself he ran into someone who never thought about being anyone else.

He couldn’t stay.  He couldn’t face Kurt like this, knowing that Kurt wasn’t just Kurt anymore.  Now he was a million other things.

He had to stay.  Kurt could be sobbing into his sheets right now, and Blaine was the only person who would know.  Kurt could be hurt, or hurting himself, or just feeling alone.

Blaine remembered the Kurt from the parking lot, so brave, and he felt stupid for being scared.

The doorknob started to turn and Blaine flinched, caught in his pacing right in front of the door.  There was nowhere to go.

It swung wide open and Kurt was there, framed by the opening and holding his dog and oh, not wearing a hat.  His blonde hair was much more obvious now, and Blaine wondered how he hadn’t made the connection to the memory before.  Then he noticed Kurt was still wearing the purple pants.  Yeah, that’s probably why.

Blaine squinted, mentally putting Kurt’s features on the fuzzy face from his memory and yes, there it was.  Kurt was Kurt.

“Blaine!” Kurt’s eyes were huge in surprise, his free hand flying to his chest.  “You scared me!”

“Kurt!” Blaine said, copying his tone in his nervousness and mentally smacking himself for being thoughtless.  He hoped Kurt didn’t take it offensively.  “Sorry about that.”

Kurt smiled a little, leaning against the doorframe.  Looking closely, Blaine could see signs that he had been crying; his eyes were still a little bloodshot and his hairline was wet from washing tear tracks away.  He looked and sounded drained, like he had been emotionally wrung out. 

“So, were you going to knock, or…?”

“I was getting to that,” Blaine hedged, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Kurt laughed and Blaine couldn’t remember why he had been having such a bad day.  He found himself smiling, and then he was laughing too, the sound strange to his ears as he couldn’t remember the last time he had someone to laugh with.

“Wait, wait,” Kurt interjected, suddenly serious as he dabbed at the corners of his watering eyes.  “How do you know where I live?”

“Well,” Blaine struggled, caught and remembering far too late that he needed an answer to that question.  He went with the truth, or most of it.  “I may or may not be abusing my post as your focus group leader.”

Kurt raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, I’m definitely abusing it.”

He laughed again, and Blaine tried to commit the beautiful sound to his faulty memory, dreading what he would have to say next.

“Actually, Kurt, I came to check on you.  I wanted to make sure you weren’t still upset about what happened earlier.”

Blaine’s heart sank as the smile fell from Kurt’s face completely, leaving his lips in a thin line and a crease between his brows.

“Earlier?” Kurt said carefully, and Blaine made a split-second decision.  The hardness in Kurt’s eyes and Blaine’s deep desire to not upset him further made him choose the cowardly option.

“Professor Smythe, I mean.  He can be pretty intense,” Blaine explained, “and say things that he doesn’t realize are hurtful.  And you kind of ran out after class and I just wanted to make sure that you were okay,” he finished lamely.  Blaine didn’t know if he had been convincing, but he tried.

“That’s…” Kurt began, pausing to clear his throat.  “That’s incredibly thoughtful of you. Wow.”

Blaine panicked a little, worried that he’d said too much, gone too far.

“But I got a cupcake earlier, with a side of perspective,” Kurt continued before Blaine could scramble to apologize.  “And I think I’ll be alright.”  His smile was back, though it was touched with sadness. 

There was no room in Blaine’s dizzying head rush of relief to ponder over Kurt’s confusing words.

“Great!” Blaine exclaimed, entirely too cheerful after Kurt’s admittance.  He lowered his voice sheepishly and tried again.  “Great, Kurt, I’m glad.” 

Thankfully Kurt just smiled wider, the grin still a little sad but very, very real.  Blaine was so pleased it was ridiculous.

“Well,” Blaine reluctantly interrupted the moment, “actually, I just live over there.”  He pointed to building 3, and Kurt turned his head to look.  “Apartment 324. If you ever, um, yeah.”  Internally cursing himself, Blaine looked down at his feet.

Kurt nodded.  “Okay, I guess I know where to go if I ever, um, yeah?” 

Blaine almost ran right then but when he looked up, Kurt was still smiling.  Almost… teasing?  It didn’t stop his face from turning pink, though, and Blaine could feel it burning.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he repeated himself, trying to make somewhat of a graceful exit.  “And since I live over there, I’m just gonna…” he trailed off, gesturing towards building 3 again.

“Oh!” Kurt interjected, and Blaine turned back from where he had been halfway to leaving.  “Actually, I was just going to walk Thatcher.”  Blaine had completely forgotten about the Chihuahua that Kurt was holding.  For all the barking he had been doing earlier, the dog had been strangely silent for their entire conversation.

“Oh, okay,” Blaine agreed.  “We can just walk together then.”

Kurt closed and locked the door, then led the way to the stairs on the building 3 side.  Blaine followed, wondering if he should say something.  At the bottom of the stairs Kurt paused to put Thatcher down and Blaine was suddenly fascinated by the people playing volleyball in the pool and anything else that was not Kurt’s purple pants.  

“So I guess this is where we part,” Kurt said as he straightened up, Thatcher’s shiny silver leash in his left hand.

Blaine nodded.  “See you soon?” 

The smile he got in return was bright enough to warm Blaine from the inside out.  Kurt nodded, waving a little as he set off for the little park at the back of the apartment complex.

Blaine headed for his own apartment, glancing back at Kurt’s disappearing figure as he went with Thatcher leading the way.

When Kurt was out of sight Blaine trudged up the stairs to his empty apartment, resisting the urge to run to the far side balcony of building 3 to get a final glimpse.

Later, as Blaine was at the stove stirring his dinner for one, he found himself humming.  He realized it just as he was going to drain the pasta, making his grip falter and a few noodles jump ship into the sink.  He stopped the sound abruptly in his surprise, looking around cautiously like there was someone to see.

Maybe it was inappropriate to hum after the day he had.  Maybe it was tasteless, or a precursor to mental illness.  Perhaps it was just a bit pathetic.

But Blaine couldn’t be disheartened.  Mr. 223 was a real person.  And if that fantasy had truth to it, maybe some of his courage could be real, too.

On that impulse of hope Blaine clicked on the old radio/CD player he kept in the kitchen, letting the inane beat of the latest Top 40 hit fill the room.

He didn’t know the words, but by the end of the chorus he was humming along, letting the sticky sweet repetitive lyrics soothe his soul.  He bobbed his head and snapped and even did a little spin and for once, his empty apartment didn’t seem quite so lonely.