He had never felt so humiliated in his life, and that was saying something, because he’d had a crush on Finn Hudson. His phone rang suddenly and he nearly dropped it. ‘Unknown number’ flashed up on the screen and Kurt angrily pressed the reject button, then left the phone on the coffee table and stalked out onto the balcony.

“Pylos Restaurant?” Kurt squinted up at the name and Blaine hummed next to him.

“Uh huh, s’really good food. Oh and I know the manager.”

“So this isn’t some weird sales pitch, then? You’re not going to feed me horrible food and then have me pretend to like it just to pay back the manager, are you?” Kurt said slyly and Blaine laughed loudly.

“You got me.” He held his hands up. “No, I’m joking. It genuinely is really nice; the atmosphere as well as the food.”
He held the door open and ushered Kurt inside.

Forced in by the cold edge creeping into the breeze, Kurt retreated to the living room where he lay stewing in his misery, watching Oprah interview some Z-list celebrity that no one had heard of. All of a sudden, the doorbell rang frantically and Kurt sat up. Cautiously, he peered out of the spyhole and was greeted with a mass of pink. Rachel. He yanked the door opened and she dumped two white plastic bags in his arms.

“I got your voicemail,” She said, pulling her gloves off and folding them in half, tucking them into her coat pocket. “So I came right over with the promised Chinese. Now get some glasses and you can tell me all about it.”

“I have no idea what any of this is, Blaine.” Kurt laughed, peering down at the menu. “It looks like Cyrillic.”

“Well,” Blaine said, leaning over. “I’d recommend the ‘Aginares a la Polita’, the ‘Kalamari’-”

“Oh I’ve heard of that one.” Kurt interrupted excitedly. “It’s squid.”

Blaine nodded, still smiling. “That’s right. Oh also try the ‘Dolmadakia’.”

“Any chance you could, I don’t know, translate any of that? You could be feeding me horse for all I know” Kurt complained. Blaine’s laughter rang loud through the restaurant.

“I’ve never been so embarrassed.” Kurt whined, gesturing with a pair of chopsticks. Rachel dug through a box of lo mein, trying to find the wontons. “I mean, what sort of guy takes you out on a date; an expensive date mind you, only to do, do… that?” He fished a piece of leek out and chewed it angrily.

“Do what, Kurt?” Rachel said for the third time, blowing a strand of hair out of her face.

“So tell me, Kurt.” Blaine said as he handed the folded menus over. “How did you get to own a coffee shop? You’ll have to excuse me for saying, but you don’t seem like the sort of guy who would.”

Kurt sighed. “You’d be right. “ He said woefully. “I’m a college dropout; NYADA if you can believe it.” Blaine’s eyebrows raised so high they nearly disappeared into his hair.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Kurt confirmed.

Blaine floundered for a second. “Kurt…”

“No,” Kurt said suddenly. “It was over a year ago I’m… I’m over it. And I don’t want to spoil this with my failings.” He took a sip of water before speaking again. “You’re at college, right? What are you studying?” Blaine’s mouth twisted into a scowl.

“Education. But my dad… my dad doesn’t want me to. He wants me to take Law. Education is, apparently, a waste of time and a ‘one-way ticket to misery’. His words, not mine.” He added ruefully.

“Well aren’t we a pair.”

“You’ve told me that he’s done “that”, a lot, Kurt. But what actually did he do?” Rachel pressed, neglecting the chopsticks and picking up a spring roll between two fingers.

Kurt looked up from the sweet and sour prawns with a glare that could scare small children, eyes darting to his phone as it buzzed angrily on the coffee table.

“Ohmygod Blaine these are amazing!” Kurt gushed, gesturing to the plate of dolma on the table in between them. Blaine grinned around a mouthful of baby squid, mouth covered with a hand.

“Blaine! I didn’t know you were here!” Blaine looked up, eyes wide. A slim, if short young woman walked up to their table, bending to press a kiss to his cheek.

Kurt glanced uncertainly between them. Blaine seemed to notice and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“Kurt, this is Melissa. My…” He trailed off and she laughed.

“Girlfriend, Blaine, girlfriend. I know it’s only recent but-” She laughed again, tapping him on the nose.

Cold settled in Kurt’s stomach like a stone and he pushed his plate away, then faked looking at his watch.

“Oh, look at the time; Blaine, I’m sorry I have to get going.” He stood up quickly and pulled out his wallet.

“Wait, Kurt-” Blaine struggled to his feet.

“As nice as this has been, I have to get back; the steamer’s playing up at the shop.” Kurt held out a few ten dollar notes. “I’ll, I’ll see you around.” And he walked off, head held high and jacket swishing behind him.

“Oh Kurt. I’m sorry.” Rachel sympathised, patting his hand.

Kurt’s phone buzzed again. He ignored it. Again.

“Aren’t you… going to get that? It could be important.” Rachel asked. Kurt shook his head.

“No, he’s been trying to get hold of me all afternoon. If he really wants to talk I guess he’ll just have to see me tomorrow at the shop.” He crushed the empty carton in his hands and reached for the carton of wontons, grabbing the last one. He bit it in half angrily, steam rising up around his face. “It was strange, though.” He said after a few minutes of silence. “I saw a lot of myself in him; we’re both disappointments to our fathers-”

“No, Kurt, don’t say that you know that’s not true-” Rachel cried, leaning forward to take one of his hands. He snatched them away and continued.

“-both unhappy with our lives and the only difference, Rachel.” He paused. “Is that at least he’s not some failure of a dropout like I am; at least he’s going somewhere with his life. I look at my future, and all I can see is me, running that stupid shop,” his face crumpled miserably. “For the rest of my life until-”

Rachel smacked him firmly across the face. He gawped up at her, one hand pressed to his smarting cheek.

“Now you listen to me, Kurt Hummel. Don’t think I don’t remember what you said to me, all those years ago, in the car park outside the NYADA mixer. You told me I was a star. That there was ‘only one’ of me. Well, Kurt. You are a star; there’s only one of you, too; you just haven’t found yourself yet. You may think that all you can do is resign yourself to life, but I know better. Where’s the Kurt Hummel who, despite all the crap he went through in high school, still came out alive and with his dreams intact. Who sang the solo at Nationals that lead us to victory?” She stopped, breathing hard and Kurt stared up at her, tears shining in his eyes. “I’ve seen your sketches. You may try to hide them, but you have a talent, Kurt. A real talent for design. Maybe NYADA wasn’t your calling; maybe fashion, is.”

Kurt sniffed, scrubbing at his face with the heel of his hand. “For once in your life, Rachel, you may be right. I don’t want to stagnate in some dead-end job; I want to be someone, I want to make it big, be remembered for something great, rather than for making great coffee.” He took a shaky breath.

“But this is reality, this is who I am, now, and I’m just going to have to wait for something better to come along. I can’t put my dad through the stress of when I dropped out again, I can’t. Seeing me so upset; it nearly killed him. So I’m prepared to be happy if he is, Rachel. That’s how it is and how it’s always been. I won’t jeopardise my dad’s health for some selfish dream of mine that will never come true.”
He sat up and collected the empty cartons, tossing them into one of the bags. “Now come on, tell me about rehearsal? How is everything going?”

It took a long time for Kurt to get to sleep that night; he lay in bed, looking at the ceiling as car headlight cast long shadows across it through the curtains. He could almost feel the box of his sketches calling to him from under his bed; he longed to get them out again. But then he remembered the look on his dad’s face when he told him he was dropping out of NYADA.

“I won’t do that to him again.” Kurt whispered furiously to the night. “I won’t.” And he turned over, burrowing himself deeper into his duvet as the traffic hummed outside.