Finn points him out, nudging Kurt in the ribs. He doesn’t even bother looking up the first few times. He doesn’t like drunk Finn.

But drunk Finn is starting to grow pretty insistent. “Bro, look. Look!”

He rolls his eyes. “Really, Finn, what could possibly be so interesting?”

For a moment, he doesn’t even see him. The lighting in this place is shoddy at best, and it’s not like he’s trying to get himself noticed. In fact, he seems to be going for the exact opposite.

“Don’t we know him?” Finn slurs, reaching out to balance himself on Kurt’s shoulder. “He sang, didn’t he? The one with the glasses? Kuuurt, look!”

He’s about to give up when he finally catches sight of the man his step-brother is so oddly interested in.

Hunched over the table, tracing his finger around the rim of his mug. Curly black hair that sticks out randomly, like tried to comb it but gave up when it wouldn’t cooperate. Full lips that seem stretched into a permanent frown. Black-rimmed glasses that seem a little crooked.

The booth practically swallows him whole, he’s so tiny.
A nobody to everyone else. A stranger with family problems, maybe. No one Kurt Hummel should even bother with.

But he can’t stop staring.

He tugs at Finn’s sleeve. “How do we know him, again? Finn.”

“Uhh…” He scratches confusedly at the back of his head and narrows his eyes. “Who?”

Kurt already knows it’s a lost cause. Much like everything with Finn these days.

He’ll just have to find out for himself.

“Are you okay if I leave you alone?” he asks.

But Finn is already drifting away, heading towards a group of young girls who are blushing and giggling behind their hands as he approaches. Kurt feels like he should do something to stop it, but, deep down, he knows his brother won’t actually do anything.

So, taking a deep breath, he slides from his barstool and starts walking towards the stranger.

He doesn’t know why his heart is pounding like crazy in his chest, or why his palms are sweating; it’s not like he’s never talked to strangers before. Even the good-looking ones.

This just feels…different.

“Excuse me,” he says, trying his hardest to hide the unexpected quiver in his voice. “But you seem lonely, and I think I might know you from somewhere.” He starts to nervously worry his bottom lip. “May I sit here?”

The man trains wide, magnificently hazel eyes on Kurt’s face. Like he’s afraid. “I-I don’t…mind.” His voice is warm, but sad.

Sliding into the booth, Kurt casts the man a shy smile. “Kurt Hummel.” He reaches his hand across the table, but the man makes no move to either take it or give his own name in turn.

Feeling foolish, he pulls away.

“So, how you do know me?” he asks, and Kurt’s heart throbs at the bitter way the words fall from the man’s lips. Without looking at Kurt, he takes another gulp of alcohol.

“Well my brother says you sang…”

The man scoffs. “In high school. I doubt that’s how you know me. Let’s get serious, now.”

Despite himself, Kurt starts to feel the slightest bit agitated. He curls his hands into fists on his lap. “It could be. What group did you sing with?”

“Please. Like the magazines haven’t told you all you need to know.”

“Magazines? What?” He starts to feel like this was a mistake. This man is bitter and crazy and not worth Kurt’s time.

But he doesn’t leave.

For a split second, the man seems surprised. He grips his drink tightly. “You mean to tell me you really don’t know who I am?”

“Isn’t that just a little bit conceited? Not everyone…”
But then the man smiles.

And it’s one of the most brilliant things Kurt has ever seen.

All of a sudden, he seems younger – more hopeful. Fresh out of college and with a pocket full of dreams to chase after. Kurt almost envies him.

“The Warblers.”

Kurt shakes his head. “I’m sorry, what?”

Still smiling, the man says, “The Dalton Academy Warblers. The group I sang with.”

It takes Kurt a moment, but it finally hits him. “The Warblers? I think I remember you…”

“I sang lead.”

Kurt smiles as it all starts coming back – hitting him hard with nostalgia. The thick-gelled hair, the red and blue blazer, the voice of an angel.

“You were fantastic.” His voice his heavy with awe even as he scolds himself for gaping.

The man shrugs and, in the dim lighting, Kurt can’t see him blush. “What about you? Who’d you sing with?”

“The McKinley New Directions…?”

He chuckles as his eyes light up in memory. “Yah, yah, I remember. You guys beat us so bad my Junior year.”

“Do you still sing?”

Although Kurt hadn’t thought it was possible, the man’s smile widens until everything around them is dark and unnoticeable. Until this man is all that Kurt sees. “No, actually. As much as I loved it, it just wasn’t for me, you know? What about you? Broadway, maybe? You look the part.”

Kurt starts swirling patterns against the tabletop with his fingers. The man’s eyes move to follow the action. “Same thing as you, I guess. I loved to preform – even went to NYADA – but I just kind of…fell out of love with it.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Actually, no. A friend of mine works on Broadway, and she’s constantly caught up in the drama of it all. I left that part of me behind in high school.”

The man takes another, thoughtful sip of his beer, and Kurt hates the way his eyes follow the slight bob of his Adam’s apple. “So, what do you do now?”

Since he’s hardly ever around people who care enough to ask, it’s with great pride that Kurt says, “I’m a designer.”

“Clothes? Who do you design for?” He seems genuinely interested, leaning slightly over the table and reminding Kurt of a little boy with a thirst for pointless knowledge.

“Celebrities, usually.” He doesn’t mean to sound arrogant, but something about this man makes him proud of all that he’s accomplished. Something that very few of his closest friends could ever accomplish.

“That…that’s amazing!”

Kurt has to stifle a giggle behind his hand. “It’s just a job. What about…”

But whatever he’s about to say is cut off when the man’s phone starts ringing.

Looking apologetic, he reaches into his pants’ pocket. Whatever name he sees makes him frown. “Damn, Kurt, I gotta go.” He looks up, smiles softly, and reaches out for a handshake. Kurt takes his hand without a second thought. “It was nice meeting you, Kurt Hummel.”

“Yah, you, too…”

As he’s sliding out of the booth, Kurt reaches over and grabs his arm. “Wait, I-I never got your name.”

Again, the man smiles. Although, this time, Kurt can’t help but to think he looks sad again.

“Blaine Anderson.”
And then he’s facing the other way, taking quick, purposeful steps towards the exit.

Kurt lets out a long, shaky breath.

Blaine Anderson.