Kurt stormed down Market, hoisting the strap of his bag further up his shoulder. He knew he should have taken the 48 and then the 44 but no, he just had to go downtown first in the middle of a fucking storm and now apparently the 17 and 18 buses didn't exist anymore.

There was the D.

THE. D.

When the fuck had the buses in Seattle started to become letters? It made no. Goddamn. Sense.

He took a sharp left at India Bistro and went down the obscure side street, blinking the rain furiously out of his eyes. The red and black sign of Miro Tea loomed closer and he pushed open the glass door, flinging his bangs out of his eyes.

A sympathetic Quinn stood at the counter, absentmindedly rubbing her belly as she smiled grimly at Kurt. "Kurt, you didn't get Puck's message?"

Kurt stared at her, feeling his mood rise. "He's coming to get you, isn't he?"

She nodded sadly and Kurt sagged against the glass display case.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "You're just so hard to reach because you don't have a cellphone--"

"It's fine," he cut her off. "Just...be careful, I guess."

"Here, let me send you off with something," she said, going to the baked goods. "Lemon poppyseed scones, right?"

He nodded. "And uh, a chocolate chunk cookie."

"Plus a London Fog tea latte? I'll throw in a panini as well..."

"Sure," he said curtly, trying his best not to take his temper out on her. But ten blocks in the rain in October without a proper coat was hell and he'd yet to feel the warmth of the shop because the cold was just seeped in so deep and--

He took the baked goods wordlessly from her and turned around to the nearest table, taking off his bag and slamming it down.

"What the hell?"

He vaguely registered the voice of whoever was occupying the table as well as the sound of glass smashing, but he honestly couldn't care less at the moment. Flipping open his bag flap, he started cramming in the scones and cookie, intent on eating them on the ride back on the 44.

“Hey Kurt, here’s your order,” Quinn called from behind the counter, holding out a drink and a hot panini. 

Kurt turned and took the rest from her, shouldering his bag as he stormed out of the door back into the rain. He was about ten feet away before he turned back, looking inside. 

At the table where he'd put his bag was a man. He was wearing all black and had extremely messy hair with what looked like four pens stuck in it at odd angles--which was weird considering he was typing--shaking tea off of his laptop. Kurt felt a brief flash of guilt before he realized that the coat the guy had over his chair was from Brooks Brothers before he rolled his eyes.

Unbidden, he found his feet walking slowly back to the large glass window, his hand ending up pressed against the glass as he watched the man get up and talk to Quinn before sitting back down and closing his laptop.

He was...well, he was good-looking, and Kurt's eyes began to linger on his jawline and fingers and shoulders and bare ankles under his black jeans and--

He blinked. He was being stupid. He'd probably never even see this man again.

So Kurt Hummel turned around and walked back into the rain, heading back to the closest thing he had to a home.