Lovely, isn't it? It makes me wish I'd packed a suit. 

Thinking of you,

B

Kurt recognized the stainless steel cladding of the Disney Concert Hall on the postcard instantly, and assumed that Blaine was involved in an event where his sport coat wouldn't quite pass muster.

His response was instantaneous.

Do you want me to ship a suit to you? If you have time, I can pull something new together. I can work from some of the slacks you left behind, or we can find you someone local to hem them.

Don't worry, Kurt. I've got it all taken care of. New suit vetted, selected, negotiated and purchased! I should have it this afternoon. I'll send you a pic, and the story. Watch your email.

Kurt was delighted that Blaine wasn't in the midst of a fashion emergency, but he did have this tiny, bitter aftertaste from the message. He had always been Blaine's de facto fashion consultant since he ditched the uniform of Dalton Academy for the street clothes of a boy who had little interest in looking street. 

Not that Blaine needed a lot of help. He had his own style, and that was half of fashion. It was certainly more conservative than what came naturally to Kurt, but it was without doubt very Blaine. He could be old and gray and still pull off a hybrid of prep school/Tom Ford chic. Kurt mainly just liked to fine tune it a bit and Blaine, much to Kurt's delight, was receptive.

He was just ... surprised ... that Blaine would buy a suit without consulting with him. With a little notice, he would have designed and constructed one for him, without hesitation. He had Blaine's proportions committed to memory, and had a wall full of clothes to use as measurement guides even if his memory of Blaine's shoulders, neck, waist, hip and inseam measurements failed him. And that would not happen, he knew.

****

The photo, and his letter, arrived that evening. Kurt was scrolling Vogue on line when his laptop email notification dinged. He normally wouldn't rush to check each email signal, but he knew what he was expecting and if he had to tell the truth, he was anxiously waiting to find out why Blaine suddenly found himself in need of finer threads.

Subject: Runway ready?

Kurt opened the attachments first, his curiosity about fashion choices outweighing his desire to read Blaine's latest soliloquy.

Two photos -- one head-on, the other angled from the back -- took Kurt's breath away. Blaine, more tan than the webcam had let on, did look like he belonged on a runway.

The suit was edgier than what Kurt was accustomed to seeing on him. Surprisingly so. It was also on trend: A soft heather gray slim cut with dark gray lapel inserts; fitted lines tracing Blaine's lean frame; a short-cut jacket that skimmed his lovely hip bones and revealed slacks that contoured his ass in the most intentional of ways. He added color with a trim, violet dress shirt and pocket square, finished off with a charcoal silk neck tie, slightly narrow to fit the lines of the jacket.

"My god," Kurt said aloud, a little dazed.

There was no way that Blaine chose this suit for himself. It was the suit that Kurt would have steered him to -- if Blaine would have allowed it. 

But he had to admit -- Blaine really wore that suit.

Hello love,

What do you think? Did I do alright without my favorite fashion consultant at my side? I can't remember the last time I did something like this without you.

I was about to have you send one out to me, but a friend at the office has contacts in the local menswear industry, and offered to help me out. I was a little worried we'd end up somewhere beyond my budget -- you would appreciate Christian's sense of style, Kurt. I'm just not sure I could afford it right now. Instead, we ended up in showrooms in the downtown fashion district. Just like New York, Kurt! I had no idea.

Christian. Cemetery guy, Kurt thought. Pangs of jealousy, suspicion, longing and maybe a little anger shot through him before he could continue reading. Control, Kurt. It's just shopping. Let it go.

I have a couple of events -- a wedding, a benefit at the Disney Concert Hall -- that are going to be a bit dressier than my sport coat could manage. I probably should have planned better, but I have to admit, I like my new suit -- even if it's not a Kurt Hummel original. I also bought additional accessories to mix it up. Never say I haven't watched, listened and learned from my Jedi Fashion Master. 

Kurt rolled his eyes. Yes, padawan, you have learned well.

Christian was so helpful. He took me to the Fashion District and helped me pick out the suit (and got me a good deal from one of his friends).

"I bet he did," Kurt said under his breath. He didn't know what this guy looked like, but he had a vision in his head of exactly what Christian-the-Californian looked like. Kurt envisioned a surfer gone to business school, with wavy golden hair, a tan and fit body, bright blue eyes and an sexy smile straight out of a tooth whitener ad.

I got the whirlwind tour of downtown L.A. It's an eclectic place, in some ways a lot like Manhattan -- how the character of the neighborhood can change from block to block. The Fashion District was a lot like in New York -- fabric everywhere, and showrooms tucked away in a bunch of industrial buildings at the corner of downtown. 

We would walk along a street of newly-renovated historic buildings being converted to lofts and cafes, then turn on to a street  taquerias, immigration offices, and wedding chapels. I discovered you can also buy purple hoop skirts and accordions -- in the same store. Turn another street, and you're at the Music Center.

Christian called ahead to the Disney Hall -- he has a friend who handles PR for the L.A. Philharmonic -- and we got a behind-the-scenes tour and got to watch part of a rehearsal. The exterior's iconic, of course, but the inside is beautiful, Kurt. You would appreciate the design. And the acoustics! Wow. Just wow.

"Wow, indeed."

We could have had lunch at Patina while we were at the Music Center, but instead we walked over to Grand Central Market, an old institution in the city with fruit and vegetable stands, meat and seafood vendors, cheese shops and even bakeries in one spot. We picked up some fruit, and then ate at -- don't turn up your nose -- at a food truck.

Gourmet food trucks are everywhere in this city, and the Kogi truck had parked outside the market, so I got my first taste of Korean BBQ tacos. They're delicious!

"You're not going to fit in that suit very long if you keep that up," Kurt muttered. Then Blaine took an abrupt turn, and reminded Kurt why he had been left so off-balance after his last letter.

I know it's been busy lately, but I hope you'll consider what I said before. We do need to talk, Kurt. Not just on the phone, or online, but face-to-face. Don't you want to be together again? There's so much to discuss, and some conversations need to be face-to-face. It's important to me, just as you are.

I do love you. So much. And I want the best for us both.

With all my heart,

B

Those final sentences didn't feel like the early hard-sell letters Blaine had sent, extolling the virtues of the West Coast. They felt urgent, serious. It felt like something Kurt wanted to keep at arm's length.

He reopened his web browser, and starting looking up places and moments that had been important enough to Blaine for him to write about. He really hadn't bothered before, living off of Blaine's descriptions, postcards and emailed photos. Hollywood Bowl. Pageant of the Masters. Cinespia. The El Rey. Runyon Canyon. The Old Globe. 

Blaine was right. If it hadn't been for the fact that they were a few thousand miles away, they would have been exactly the kinds of things Kurt would be drawn to.

Against his better judgement, he thought about the search results he really wanted. If he only had Christian's last name. Then a thought, and he tapped the key words into the search bar: Christian, NSO, LGBT, Hollywood. Snippets from clippings gradually appeared, from society sections, newsletters, the entertainment pages. Facebook. Twitter. All involved in music, fashion, LGBT and charitable events in the Los Angeles area. 

Christian Mayas, assistant to NSO Chief Financial Officer ...

He clicked on the Images tab, and held his breath. 

Shit.

Not a blonde beach boy. But a lot like an Abercrombie and Fitch model. Brown hair, an olive complexion and dark eyes that read Mediterranean. Newspaper photos of Christian Mayas at black tie fundraisers. Promotional pictures of Christian Mayas in box seats at the Hollywood Bowl. A Cinespia web site photo of Christian Mayas at a picnic ... Is that Blaine?

Half of his brain was churning to see Blaine posing happily with Adonis at the Moulin Rouge screening. The other half was thinking that should be me.

If you'd just gone out there like he'd asked, that would have been you in that picture.

He snapped his laptop shut and decided to get ready for bed.

Just a few more weeks, he told himself.