Blaine arrived at French Press first, so he got into line, inching forward slowly, craving his morning infusion of caffeine like a zombie craved brains. He tried to peer around the people in front of him to see what pastries were available that morning. He was in the mood for a maple bar, but they were usually sold out by the time he dragged his butt out of bed.

A jingling sound behind him heralded the arrival of someone else to the shop and then he felt the heat of a body pressed against his shoulder.

"Someday I will beat you here, I swear. The gauntlet has been thrown," Kurt said as he craned his neck to see the pastry case for himself.

"You're always worth the wait."

Kurt kissed him on the cheek. "Okay, just for that coffee's on me today. Want to share a maple bar? I don't think there's enough give in these pants for me to eat a whole one by myself."

"I knew there was a reason I liked you."

They got their drinks and food and set up camp at their usual table.

"So, I know we made plans to hang out this weekend, but I've just been given a cool project at the store that I need to work on," Kurt said as he readjusted the protective sleeve on his cup.

"Yeah?"

"The owner asked us to come up with ways to bring more customers in and my suggestion was that we try and get more creative with our window displays. We've got those two big windows out front and all we have in them are boring walls with clothes pinned to them. He liked the idea and wants me to coordinate it!" Kurt wiggled in his chair excitedly, with all the enthusiasm of a little kid. "I'm going to take my inspiration from the movie Mannequin and set up provocative but funny displays that will grab people's attention."

"Uh, I haven't seen that one," Blaine admitted sheepishly.

Kurt stared at him in disbelief before shaking his head sadly. "Such a tragic commentary on today's youth. Okay, so this lonely artist wishes that the mannequin he'd just sculpted was a real girl and lo and behold, it happens — don't ask — but she only comes to life when they're alone. Hilarity ensues. 1980s rom-com at its most ridiculous, including the cartoon-like gay sidekick. It's Kim Cattrall — love her — and Andrew McCarthy, you know, Blane from Pretty in Pink?" He stopped and gave Blaine a look. "Please tell me you've at least seen that one."

Blaine's heart stuttered at the sound of his name of Kurt's lips and he had to bite his cheek to keep from asking him to repeat it. "Of course. It sounds like fun. The windows, I mean, not the movie. Could I help? Or at least watch? I'd love to see the creative process at work."

Kurt bounced up and down in his seat happily at the suggestion and immediately pulled out a notebook so that they could start writing some ideas down.

Twenty-eight hours later, Kurt and Blaine were ensconced in the larger of the shops two windows, an army of naked mannequins beside them waiting to be given their marching orders.

They had decided at French Press that the first set-up was going to be a scene from a rock concert. The window was pretty deep so they figured they could get in at least three rows of four mannequins each. Kurt had painted a backdrop that looked like a spotlight lit stage the night before and they were going to place the mannequins in front, each holding a fake cell phone up high, as if caught mid-slow song.

Blaine was adding some final touches to the backdrop at Kurt's request while Kurt scoured the store for the outfits he wanted to feature and although he'd never really painted much, he had to admit it was turning out kind of cool. He'd added a drum set and microphone in the center and a propped up guitar off to the left, each instrument vague and hazy, as if seen through fog effects.

Kurt stumbled through the door, wobbling under the weight of a pile of clothes that reached from his waist to his chin. Blaine rushed forward to help and they spent the next hour dressing various mannequins in their concert gear, laughing and joking around as they worked. Blaine did the initial dressing while Kurt put the final touches on, pinning here and folding there until each item of clothing looked custom tailored.

Blaine looked up from a particularly stubborn leather jacket that just refused to slide over the fiberglass hand to find Kurt sending him fleeting glances.

"What?"

"Did you ever read that book The Tell-Tale Heart in school?" Kurt asked.

"I think so."

"I'm kind of having my own guilty moment. Not exactly at an auditory hallucination level, but still..."

"Huh?"

"You invited me out on a date tonight and instead I've got you cooped up here, doing unpaid labor. The guilt is eating me alive, Brandon. I feel like the phantom heart is going to start thumping under the floorboards at any moment."

Blaine felt a pang at the use of his fake name. He set aside the jacket and went to stand beside Kurt, grabbing his hand and threading their fingers together. "I'd rather spend an hour doing manual labor with you than spend an evening in an expensive restaurant with anyone else."

"That may be the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me. If I get tear stains on this silk, you'll be in big trouble, mister."

Blaine trailed a hand up Kurt's arm to cup his shoulder. He'd meant only to give it a squeeze, but just then the tip of Kurt's tongue poked out to wet his lips and Blaine knew he was a goner. His heart began to race and he leaned forward, giving Kurt plenty of time to pull back, but instead Kurt's head dipped and met him halfway in the middle.

The first kiss was tentative and brief; barely a kiss at all, really. Blaine retreated just enough so that he could get a glimpse of Kurt's eyes and what he saw there had him diving forward to capture Kurt's mouth again.

Kurt tasted like coffee and the Sugar lip balm he'd admitted to being addicted to the day they'd met and if it that was what made his lips so soft and pliant, then Blaine would go out immediately and buy him a whole case.

Blaine wrapped an arm around Kurt's back as Kurt reached up to cradle the side of his face gently. He leaned into the touch as he coaxed Kurt's mouth open just enough so that his tongue could slide inside. The sound Kurt made at the motion was probably illegal in most of the Southern states (and Montana) and caused Blaine's hand to clench a bit, his fingers digging into the taut muscles beneath them.

Somehow, he ended up with his back against the window, Kurt pressing against him tightly as they deepened the kiss even further. Blaine sunk into the sensation, losing all sense of the room and their surroundings, his entire existence in that moment concentrated on the press of Kurt's chest against his, their tongues slipping together, then dancing apart.

He held out as long as he could, but finally he drug his mouth away, moving to touch it to Kurt's shoulder as he fought to catch his breath. As he rested there, he began to feel Kurt's body shaking. Confused, he pulled back and looked up, only to find Kurt clamping his lips together in an effort to fight off a smile. His silent laughter grew as he put his hands on Blaine's shoulders and spun him around.

There, outside the window, a group of four teenage girls stood on the sidewalk, staring at them and giggling like maniacs. One of them mouthed "do it again" as she made kissy faces at them through the glass.

Kurt finally let the grin take over his face and sunk down into a curtsey, touching one finger to the tip of his chin. With a tug of his hand, his coaxed Blaine into a bow beside him. When no repeat make-out session was forthcoming, the girls pouted in disappointment and continued on their way.

"Well, that's one way to bring attention to the store," Kurt chuckled as he slid down to the ground with his back against the window.

Blaine sat down next to him, resting his wrists on his bent knees. "It'd probably give the wrong impression of what kind of shop it is, though."

"But on the other hand it'd bring in a whole new clientele."

Kurt reached for Blaine's hand and grasped it tightly, still snickering.

Blaine's heart skipped a beat as he smiled back.

=^..^=

Having two ever changing schedules built around auditions, retail sales hours, and semi-irregular rehearsals could be a challenge when trying to find time together, but when the stars aligned to allow for Wednesday afternoon picnics in Central Park on sunny spring days, Blaine couldn't help but count himself lucky.

It'd been more than three days since their kiss in the store window and he and Kurt hadn't seen each other since. Blaine had replayed the kiss in his head so many times that it had gotten to the point where he'd even started to wonder if it was something he made up, a figment of his imagination that had been in such full Technicolor that he'd fooled himself into believing it to be something that had actually happened. He needed to see Kurt again to anchor himself in reality.

They'd initially made plans to grab lunch at the sushi place again, but the weather was turning out to be so great that Blaine had texted Kurt earlier that morning to ask if he minded a change in plans. Kurt had balked a bit at first, a little reluctant to expose himself to that much sun so soon after the hibernation of winter, but Blaine had won him over by promising to come armed with a bottle of 110 SPF sunscreen (non-pore clogging facial formula, of course).

Kurt had pulled a split shift at work and would be free from noon until he had to return at 3 p.m. The store was mostly staffed by aspiring actors and dancers, so the owner was great about giving time off for auditions, but that often resulted in convoluted work schedules when gaps needed to be filled.

Blaine arrived at the shop, sunscreen and picnic blanket in hand, just as Kurt was clocking out. Kurt nodded with a smile when Blaine held the sunscreen out for his approval, but Blaine could see that he looked tired and pale — definitely not presenting his usual fresh-off-the-pages-of-a-magazine perfection. Kurt took the sunscreen with him into the back and returned a few minutes later armored for battle with the sun and with a light blue, summer-weight scarf draped just so around his neck.

They jumped on the subway in the direction of the park and stopped at a Thai restaurant for take-out before heading for a quiet spot by Turtle Pond. They talked a little as they walked, but Blaine could practically see the proverbial little rain cloud sitting above Kurt's head that was adding a general sense of melancholy to the day.

He reached out tentatively to grasp Kurt's hand as they approached the pond, hoping that it wasn't their kiss that had his spirits down. His heart lifted when Kurt smiled at him and squeezed his hand gently.

They settled down in a sunny patch to eat, quietly people watching as they munched on their rice and noodles.

When Kurt finished his lunch, he reached for an empty straw wrapper from the plastic bag beside him, his attention concentrated on precisely folding it in a zigzag pattern. When he was done, he began to pull the folded paper open and shut, like it was an accordion.

Blaine watched quietly, knowing that something was wrong but not wanting to pry. He could hear his mother's voice in his ear, telling him that people with good manners didn't ask personal questions or pry into other people's business. Her life was hardly one worth emulating, though, so Blaine decided to forge his own path.

"I'm not going to push, but if something's bothering you, I hope you know you can talk to me about it."

Kurt sighed and pushed his little folded paper down onto the grass beside him, watching intently as it sprang up and open. "It's nothing. I just got some unexpected news."

"About one of your auditions?"

"No, I...look, it's family and other stuff and I know you don't want to talk about that, so—"

"Kurt, no. That's my hang up. I didn't mean that you can't..." Blaine closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he tried to form a coherent sentence. He opened his eyes and reached out with a finger to lift Kurt's chin so that they were looking eye-to-eye. "I don't want you to ever feel like you need to hide or not talk about something that's bothering you because of my stupid issues. Please."

Kurt stared at him silently for several seconds before seeming to come to some sort of a decision. "I got a call from someone I knew back home and he told me some things that..." Kurt trailed off, his eyes going distant again.

"That?" Blaine prompted.

"A bunch of things really, but h-he mentioned that my dad is having some health problems again. I've talked to my dad twice this week and he hasn't said anything!" Kurt's voice rose and he began to agitatedly shred his little paper accordion. "Why wouldn't he tell me unless something's really wrong? He had a really bad episode with his heart when I was in high school and he's been under a lot of stress lately, so I'm just worried...worried that..."

"Are you sure your friend was right? Maybe he's mistaken. Is he close to your dad?"

Kurt grimaced. "I didn't even realize they knew each other, actually."

"Then maybe he heard something second hand and got it wrong. You should talk to your dad before jumping to conclusions. I'm sure if you asked he'd tell you the truth."

"You're right. Of course, you're right." Kurt's expression cleared a little, lifting a weight off of Blaine's chest that he hadn't even realized was there. "My dad might not volunteer bad news if he doesn't want to worry me, but he'd never lie to me if I asked. I'll call him tonight."

He leaned forward and kissed Blaine lightly, his lips tasting like curry and orange soda.

Blaine laid back in the grass, pillowing his head on one arm. "Tell me about him."

Kurt pushed his empty food container to the side and stretched out beside Blaine on his stomach. He propped himself up on his elbows, knees bent and legs kicking in the air. "Are you sure? Because—"

"Kurt," Blaine said with a low, but playful warning growl.

"Okay, okay. My dad. Huh. Picture the guy least likely to be my dad and a champion of gay rights in a flannel shirt and a trucker hat..."

Blaine listened to Kurt talk, the lilt of his voice and the warmth of the sunshine lulling him into a drowsy haze. It was the first time Kurt had mentioned anything specific about his family or past and it almost — almost — made him want to reciprocate.

Even without getting into the whole criminal mastermind saga he didn't have a lot of fun stories. What in the world he tell Kurt about? The time when he was sixteen and he'd heard his parents having a huge fight about Richard's latest mistress? The fact that he was having an affair was nothing new — he'd never made any attempt to hide any of the women he slept with — but that time he'd threatened a divorce, which had never happened before. He claimed to be in love with the other woman and it actually seemed to be true, at least to the extent that someone like him could love.

The woman worked for one of the charities that Richard's company gave money to and they'd been introduced at a golf tournament the year before. She was young and beautiful and decidedly not of the Anderson's social standing. Blaine's mother had seemed more upset about that fact than anything else, crying about what people would think down at the club if Richard left her for someone from the lower-middle class and saying that she wouldn't be able to face her friends ever again.

His parents had gone into the study and shut the door after that, so Blaine hadn't heard the rest of their argument, but Grace had somehow convinced his father to stay. Later, Blaine had wondered if she'd known something about the Winterland scam even back then and had used that knowledge to coerce him.

Whatever the reason, Richard had stayed and had even broken things off with the other woman.

A few years later, during a rare trip home from boarding school, Blaine had found a printed copy of a recent email from the woman, sent to an account he wasn't familiar with, in his dad's office while he'd been filling out some paperwork for college. She'd thanked Richard for the money he'd sent and told him that she still loved him.

His father had caught him reading the letter and had tossed it into the fireplace.

Or maybe he'd entertain Kurt with the tale of how his father hadn't spoken to him for six months after he'd announced he was gay — not even a "pass the salt" or "where's the remote." His mother had been gone on one of her "retreats" for much of that time, so Blaine had been left pretty much on his own, except for the housekeeper, who had tried her best, but had been too worried about her job to do more than bake him his favorite cookies and make sure he got to school on time.

He flushed with shame when he remembered stealing money out of his father's room so that he could buy school supplies or for when he went to the mall with his friends. He'd have asked instead of just taking it, but he'd already known what the answer would be.

Or he could talk about Cooper, the big brother that he'd idolized and wanted to be just like, right up until the day that he'd left for California without saying goodbye when Blaine was nine.

Maybe someday he'd feel ready to tell those stories. Maybe.