Kurt hates working nights. 

He’s always thrived in the earliest hours of the day. It’s when his father used to gently prod him awake, so many years ago and miles away from here. They’d sit side by side at the kitchen table, awash in golden light and comfortable silence, welcoming each morning together over buttered toast and Raisin Bran.

Kurt still rises with the sun – though his only breakfast partners now are the clamor of Manhattan outside his window and the countless dreams that float through his mind.

Evenings aren’t for wiping down stained, crumb-covered tables and counting up credit card receipts. They’re for indulging in long, luxurious baths and oversized glasses of wine; conducting sweet-smelling experiments in his cramped kitchen; traipsing to the theatre to see his friends in their latest productions; or meandering for miles through the chill of winter, gazing at pretty, frosted storefront displays and letting his city breathe life into his soul.

Or maybe even accompanying an attractive man out to dinner. It is Friday night, after all.

Kurt snorts; the crude sound echoes loudly through the silent, empty shop. Right. Because you’re in such high demand. There’s only one guy who’s given him more than a passing glance since the holidays. Blaine.

Kurt’s hand stills in mid-swipe over a tabletop as the dark, mysterious man invades his thoughts for the hundredth time that week. Blaine’s haunting words scroll endlessly across his field of vision, as clear as when he read them for the first time four nights ago.

“There’s so many things I want to tell you.”

Yet Kurt’s heard nothing but radio silence since. He’d think he made the whole thing up in his head if he didn’t still have their conversation saved on his phone, pondered over and pulled apart until his mind spun with unanswered questions.

What did Blaine want to tell him? Why would he make such an impassioned plea, followed by a total lapse in communication? Has he ever told anyone else these things – his secrets?

“You’re the first person who’s ever made me feel good. I always feel so bad.”

Why Kurt, of all people? Why had Blaine placed his trust in the hands of a barista whom he’d met a mere two weeks ago – but couldn’t bring himself to visit Kurt in the flesh once they acknowledged their mutual attraction? Am I the only person who knows Blaine’s gay?

Kurt can’t forget the leaden weight of fear the fifteen-year-old version of himself carried through life. How would it feel to bear that load for years – burdensome and buried away from the world? To avoid all physical contact with men he was interested in? To settle for conversations via text message and wistful gazes from a distance?

“I guess you caught me this time.”

Kurt’s tried to catch him again – keeping one eye trained on the bustling world beyond the coffee shop windows, always wondering if Blaine’s out there, somewhere, hidden from view.

Is he really following me?

The whole idea seemed a bit too Friday night Lifetime movie to Kurt. If Lifetime made films about closeted gay men stalking baristas. He could definitely ace that audition.

Even with all the unknown answers, all his heartbreaking speculation and the tiny, cautious voices whispering be careful in his head, Kurt still wants Blaine. Wants to know more about him, to see him, to talk to him, to let him get close. To sneak around the thick walls Blaine’s barricaded himself behind and kiss the anxiety clear from his mesmerizing honey eyes.

The quiet of the desolate café weighs heavy in the air, ringing in Kurt’s ears – ears that are more accustomed to chatter and traffic and music. He fills the silence with a soft, sweet melody as his damp, dirty rag glides across table after table. 

Crazy world
Every day the same old rollercoaster ride
But I’ve got my pride
I won’t give in
Even though I know I’ll never win

Only two more night shifts left, he thinks as he neatly tucks chairs under tables, restoring order to the coffee shop – pushing away his despondency when he realizes it’ll all be ripped apart again by the morning rush in mere hours. Then he can switch back to his usual schedule, once he gets through his audition next Tues–

The deep vibration of his phone in the back pocket of his jeans sends a sudden, violent shudder coursing up Kurt’s spine. The hairs at the nape of his neck stand on end like a distress signal, calling out a single name.

Blaine.

Kurt instinctively knows it’s him before he pulls his phone out of his pocket and reads the new message shining on the screen.

Blaine (7:48pm): You look so beautiful tonight

Kurt’s head snaps up; alarmed, his eyes frantically dart back and forth, searching the wall of windows running across the opposite side of the room. Nothing greets him but his own startled, wide-eyed reflection, washed out under the bright glare of artificial lighting. It’s impossible to see out into the pitch black night – to catch anyone who might be staring back at him from the other side.

Blaine’s out there.

Is he across the street, anxiously pacing the sidewalk and sneaking a glimpse at each turn?

Blaine’s watching me.

Or is he at the window – face and palms pressed against the glass, smirking as he watches Kurt look unseeing into the unknown?

Me (7:50pm): Where are you?

Blaine (7:51pm): Close
(7:51pm): Your skin glows under those lights. Like you’re an angel 

Me (7:52pm): How did you know I was here?

Blaine (7:53pm): I waited for you. But you never left this afternoon

Me (7:53pm): You were waiting for me?

Blaine (7:54pm): I always wait for you. Every day

“Oh my god.” Kurt barely hears himself breathe out the hushed oath over the thunderous hammering of his heart. Where? he wonders again as he returns his gaze to the opaque bank of windows. Why?

This is insane! He should call the police, or tell his boss, or change his number. But instead he turns back to his phone, tapping out the curious question that burns on his tongue.

Me (7:55pm): Why don’t you talk to me?
(7:55pm): You said you wanted to tell me things
(7:56pm): I want to listen to you. I meant it when I said I miss talking to you 

Blaine (7:57pm): I miss talking to you too, Kurt. I’m so sorry
(7:57pm): I...haven’t been well
(7:58pm): Will you listen to me now? 

Me (7:58pm): Of course

Blaine (7:59pm): I want to keep watching you
(7:59pm): Come here and show me how beautiful you are 

Hidden behind the false safety of his eyelashes, Kurt’s eyes shift upward to sweep across the emptiness once more, his trepidation suddenly laced with tiny sizzles of excitement.

Me (8:00pm): Where?

Blaine (8:01pm): Shut off the lights

Me (8:01pm): You’re not going to jump out of a dark corner and attack me or something, are you?

Blaine (8:02pm): No. God. I could never hurt you, Kurt. You’re precious to me
(8:02pm): Please. Shut off the lights and come over here 

Kurt slowly shuffles behind the counter to the light switch on the wall. He holds his breath as he flicks the switch down, abruptly washing the café in darkness.

The air rushes out of his lungs in a piercing shriek at the sight staring back at him.

Blaine’s there – right there – leaning against the brick edge along the far side of the window, his hunched, bundled-up figure backlit in sickly yellow by the garish streetlights beyond.

Kurt inhales deeply – once, twice, three times – steadying himself as he watches Blaine type out a message. A moment later, Kurt’s phone vibrates in his hand; the bright screen gives away his position in the darkened room.

Blaine (8:03pm): Hi

Me (8:03pm): You scared the crap out of me

Blaine (8:04pm): I’m sorry, beautiful
(8:04pm): Please don’t be scared
(8:05pm): Come. Sit with me 

Blaine keeps his eyes trained in Kurt’s direction as he taps lightly on the glass, pointing to a plush patterned chair nestled in the corner by the window where he stands.

Their roles are reversed now: Kurt’s tucked in darkness, invisible to Blaine’s probing stare. It’s his chance to escape – he could slide out the rear exit and sprint back to his apartment, or hide in the bathroom until help arrived.

But Blaine’s gaze pierces through the shadows like a laser, finding Kurt’s eyes and holding him in place: numbing his rational thoughts, coaxing his body to obey. Kurt swallows hard as he takes a hesitant step forward, then another, toward the light.

He perches delicately on the edge of the soft, cushioned chair; his stiff spine is ramrod straight with tense uncertainty as he casts a wary, questioning glance at the man on the other side of the glass. Blaine crouches down beside him, seating himself on the tiny brick ledge at the base of the window, inches above the grimy sidewalk.

Kurt wonders if this is what it’s like to visit an inmate in jail – communicating only by phone and pregnant gazes, the icy glass barrier between them cutting off all touch, all scent, all taste. Except right now, Kurt’s not quite sure which one of them is the prisoner.

He fidgets under the heat of Blaine’s smoldering, wonder-filled stare, level with his own and mere inches away. Those gorgeous rings of hazel roam across Kurt’s face...then slowly drop down to where Kurt’s apron-swathed lap is bathed in the barest beams of light from the lamps outside.

Kurt is the first to interrupt their silent conversation, ducking his head to tap out another message on his phone.

Me (8:07pm): I thought you said you couldn’t come here anymore
(8:07pm): Aren’t you freezing out there?

Blaine (8:07pm): I needed to get closer 

Me (8:08pm): You could get closer than this, you know. Nobody’s here to see us
(8:08pm): Let me warm you up 

Kurt’s flirty smile falls when Blaine’s expression turn to stone as he reads the messages. He doesn’t look up – just types back, as if Kurt’s not right there, sitting so close they could whisper the words to each other.

Blaine (8:09pm): You know I can’t do that, Kurt
(8:09pm): But there’s something you can do for me 

Kurt arches an eyebrow in question, waiting for Blaine’s eyes to slowly shift upward and lock with his own. The blankness has vanished, replaced with desperate need that blows Blaine’s pupils open, black and brutal and beckoning. Kurt’s pulse quickens in his throat, beating in time with the suspense-filled seconds until he feels his phone buzz again.

Blaine (8:10pm): Show me how you touch yourself

Kurt freezes in his seat, staring open-mouthed at the message glowing happily in his hands.

ohmygod. What?!

Blaine’s silhouette hovers over him out of the corner of his eye, like a shadow of the doubts that tear through his mind. Kurt can feel his pale cheeks blaze vivid crimson as he looks up at Blaine with panicked eyes, wide and round as saucers.

“N-no,” he whispers, his voice trembling as he shakes his head back and forth. No. No! Blaine can’t hear him, not through the thick glass. But he can plainly read the refusal on Kurt’s lips.

Again Blaine’s gaze drops down to type out a message. When his eyes flick back up to meet Kurt’s, they’re narrowed in a challenging stare that pins Kurt to his seat and makes his pulse patter with anticipation.

Blaine (8:11pm): You told me you’d show me whatever I want to see

Oh. Yes. He had, hadn’t he? Kurt swipes his thumb against the screen, skimming the heart-wrenching, sexually charged messages they’d exchanged four nights prior.

Who was that Kurt – the one who’d been so bold to tell Blaine he’d make him feel good? Who’d teased that Blaine didn’t have to stay in control, if you know what I mean…

Kurt glances at the street past Blaine’s shoulder – lifeless but for the occasional blur of a taxi speeding by. The neighborhood dies down quickly at night, once the bustling evening commute is through and winter’s thick, frosty darkness settles in. It’s just the two of them here, cocooned in muted light and raw intimacy.

“I have a hard time staying in control when I’m around you.”

Those tiny sparks of curiosity, of craving thrill through Kurt’s body, fueling a fire of feverish arousal in his belly. Hotter, hotter, brighter. Inextinguishable.

Me too, Blaine.

Kurt slides too easily into this uncharted facet of himself; his years of drama training betray the faint shouts of No! No! What the hell are you thinking?! still ringing out from a corner of his mind. He’s the actor now, molding and stretching the boundaries of his new character to fulfill every whim of his brilliant, demanding director.

He tugs at the strings of his apron; the bows around his neck and waist fall away under quick, practiced movements. Tossing the garment aside, he reveals the growing bulge at his groin, the product of Blaine’s provocative persuasion.

Kurt tamps down his racing heart as he types out one last message – the opening curtain on his risqué performance.

Me (8:13pm): Is this one of the things you wanted to try?

Buttons give way under Kurt’s fingers, allowing his half-hard cock to spring free of its tight denim trap. Kurt watches Blaine’s head bob up and down in a vehement nod as he gapes at Kurt’s exposed erection, his overwhelming desire clear as the glass between them.

Kurt clasps the base of his cock with his left hand, squeezing firmly and stretching the delicate skin taut. The first ragged murmur of pleasure hums in his throat as he trails a single fingertip along the slit and down the shaft, lingering over the sweet spot underneath that always sends a shiver down to his toes.

Blaine’s palm slides up to the window; his fingers curl and scratch against the cold, unyielding barrier as if he’s trying to reach out and take. Kurt has a fleeting vision of how that fist would look gripped tightly around his cock – rugged, timid, honest. Now it’s stark and lonesome, pressed flat against smooth glass, grasping nothing but fantasies.

Instinctively, Kurt reaches with his free hand to lightly cover Blaine’s: matching palms, then fingers, then knuckles until they’re partnered. The window blocks the warmth of their skin, but not the scorching heat of the lustful, hungry gaze they share. Blaine briefly breaks the bond; his eyes flicker wider as they fix on Kurt’s hand over his. When his gaze returns, it’s flooded with surprise, gut-wrenching in its earnestness.

Kurt holds Blaine’s fervid stare as he pulls his hand away from the glass, bringing it to his mouth and running his tongue up the length of his palm. The slickness won’t last, but the sheer lewdness spurs him on to the next act in his show.

“Watch me, Blaine.” Kurt exaggerates the shape of his mouth around the words, puckering and pursing his lips so Blaine can read without sound. His eyelids slip shut as he wraps his glistening hand around his twitching cock, standing tall and flushed under the unflinching gaze of his audience of one. 

Kurt wears his sexy side like a beloved designer suit, reveling in its lavish, sumptuous feel against his skin. He’s no longer the Kurt who fills coffee orders for strangers and gets tossed aside by his friends and watches a phone that never rings. He’s a Kurt who’s desired – chosen from millions by this enigmatic puzzle of a man who makes him itch for more. To give more, to take more, to learn more, to offer more.

He shows Blaine the twist of his wrist around the crown of his cock that causes him to writhe in his seat; the friction-filled strokes up and down his shaft – long and languid then short, fast, tight, mmmm – that make his abs quiver; the way he stops to wring around the head, sending warm waves of pleasure shimmering through his blood. It’s a silent film with no subtitles, no script – just sex, illustrated in vibrant color across his bliss-filled face.

Blaine’s forehead joins his fist at the window, his tanned skin crushing against the rigid glass. Kurt watches the window fog around Blaine’s slackened jaw with each ragged, ashen puff of breath, leaving only his haunting gaze in view. Those dark, shining orbs strip Kurt bare – literally, figuratively, in every way – throwing kindling on the blaze that’s engulfed his body.

“Oh-ohhh!” Kurt wails a high, broken cry as he comes across his hand, his jeans, his shirt; cum slides under his palm and slicks the last few delicious drags along his cock. His head flies back against the chair, propelling his gasping moans high into the air.

Kurt blinks dazedly at the tiled ceiling above him, panting heavily through dry, parted lips as he floats back to earth. Slowly, he drops his chin down, returning his wrecked gaze to Blaine’s face. Unease creeps into his gut when he sees wild fear dancing behind the man’s mask of control, cooling the pleasure still flowing molten under his skin.

The glass blockade separating them tries to force silence, but Blaine’s tormented stare still tells Kurt things – so many things, everything.

I want you.

I need more.

Please. Help me.

Blaine rolls his head to the side, pressing his cheek into the frozen divider like he’s trying to nuzzle closer – closer to Kurt’s limp, liquid body, to share in his exquisite afterglow. Kurt’s breath hitches, mimicking the pang of emotion that aches in his heart as he watches Blaine’s eyelids squeeze shut, his face slowly crumple...

It’s a mere moment, a flash in time – missed if Kurt might have spared a glance away. But he can’t tear his eyes from Blaine’s stricken expression, not even when Blaine suddenly bites down on his bottom lip, so sharp and cruel Kurt’s sure he sees teeth stab through flesh.

Kurt cries out, cringing in horror. But just like that, it’s over. Blaine’s eyes fly open, and his composure slides neatly back into place. The only evidence that remains of the war he fights inside himself are his heaving exhales, one after another, that glaze a perfect round fog into the barrier he’s forced between them – divisive, but transparent.

Their eyes lock over the cloudy circle of breath for a brief, fiery glance. It burns, burns between them, red hot, until Blaine’s up out of his seat, abruptly dousing the flames.

Kurt tries to scramble to his feet, but he’s tangled and sticky and exposed. He can only watch, powerless, as Blaine bolts away. His fingertips glide, lingering, along the glass window, holding on to the last dying embers of their encounter until he finally lets go.