I, Kurt Hummel, am an addict, completely and utterly. In fact if there is more blood than caffeinated perfection running through my veins I’m practically hell to be around.  My espresso machine takes exactly thirteen minutes to heat up in the morning, which is twelve minutes and thirty seconds longer than I want to wait for my Super Tuscan dark blend to be coursing itself through my system. WHY aren't these things equipped with timers? Luckily I’m blessed with Rachel Berry, future Broadway star and perfect roommate/best friend. She’s awake before God every morning to exercise, moisturize and primp for the day; and every morning she turns on the machine for me. Which is where I find myself now, two pumps of sugar free vanilla syrup, two shots of espresso and a half pitcher of milk and foam absolutely scalding. 

“Kurt what are you doing today,” Rachel asks as she sits on one of the bar stools at the island in our kitchen her brown hair still wrapped in a towel on top of her head. 

"mmmm," I raise my hand and take the first few sips of my vanilla latte with my eyes closed before I answer; "I think I'm going to go down to the library and work on some sketches. Maybe a change of scenery will strike inspiration." 

Rachel shakes out her hair and begins running her fingers through her locks; "I have an audition today!"

I cross the kitchen to sit next to her and give her my full attention, "Spill it sister." 

"There's this new director who is looking to cast fresh faces for an off off Broadway version of Pinocchio."

"And you're auditioning for the wooden boy," I tease. 

Rachel swats my arm with the back of her delicate hand; "I'm going to pretend that wasn't a nose joke and assume you meant Blue Fairy."

"How could you accuse me of such a terrible thing?" I gasp with a wink. 

Rachel hops down from her stool and drops her towel right there on the kitchen floor, "your turn for laundry!" She plants a quick kiss on my cheek and scampers into her room to finish readying herself. I smile before I down the rest of my latte, rinse my mug out in the sink and start a load of laundry including Rachel's abandoned towel. Having a washer and dryer inside of your apartment is completely unheard of in New York City. We lucked out when we were searching, the owner of the building used to live in this apartment. Apparently we also have the best furnace and paint job in the building, I'm pretty sure the paint job part is a lie, but Mr. Zanokowskie is really a sweet older man, so maybe it's just his eyesight is bad. Rachel and I had to sing the letters of his last name to the tune of M-I-C-K-E-Y M-O-U-S-E for the first month so we could memorize it, we both feel that spelling someone's name incorrectly is rude. 

After a quick shower, shave, and dress I grab my leather satchel from the hook by the door and head out into the city. Twelve flights of steps later the sunlight is on my face and I find myself headed to the park instead that's just around the corner and down a bit. It's only six blocks of grass and trees with only three benches that fill up fast on the weekends, but it's quaint and fun. I found it right after Rachel and I moved here from Lima, Ohio. Both of us had big city dreams of Times Square and The Great White Way. Four years of harsh education at NYADA and we're still dreaming. We've both had our share of off Broadway bits here and there, and we haven't given up, we're only 23 for god's sake, but dreams don't pay the bills yet. Rachel works part time as a receptionist for a casting company and I work for the costume department at NYU.  It's not dream work, but there are worse things believe me.  

In the park there is this oak tree that has to be at least a hundred years old, and on the northeastern side of it two thick roots have grown up and out enough to create a perfect hollow for me to sit between and lean against the trunk. It's my little nature chair, I pop in my headphones and let Theo Katzman play softly as my graphite scratches across the soft paper of my sketchbook. 

Two completed jacket sketches later it's eleven and I'm starting to get easily distracted, it's coffee time! I gather my things and head back towards the apartment, there's a coffee shop three blocks down in the other direction. 

The bell over the door dings as I enter The Coffee Break, home of New York City's best white chocolate mocha. The owner, Diana a woman in her mid sixties, has two passions, coffee and cats. This is evident the moment you walk into her cafe. Everyone is immediately greeted by Lucky, the resident cat of Coffee Break, and she holds grudges if you don't share the foam from whatever you order. Be warned if you don't she will knock over something then disappear like a flash of black lightning before she can be held responsible.

"Good Morning Kurt," Diana calls from behind the counter as I scratch Lucky under her chin. 

"Morning Diana, Lucky's starting to get some gray under that chin of hers," I comment. 

Diana nods, "I've noticed, my girl's getting old." 

I hand Diana a full punch card, "This one's free, I've filled up another one!" 

She smiles, "I swear I'm going to have to stock up on those cards mostly for you my boy." She waves a hand at me, "Well go on and have a seat I'll get it out to you in a minute. Lucky would appreciate the attention anyway." 

I walk over to the plush armchair facing the window in the far corner of the cafe and within ten seconds Lucky is in my lap purring obnoxiously, she knows the drill, it's time to people watch and cuddle until my mocha is done. 

I hear Diana headed our way and set Lucky onto the floor. "There you go, kitty." I stand up brushing the cat hair from my skinny jeans and come face to face with the last person I would ever expect to see handing me coffee. Blaine Anderson, the man that I once loved, will always love, even though I don't want to. The man who shattered my heart five years ago. My ex-boyfriend is standing in front of me and all we can both do is gape at each other. What the fuck universe!?