“He still has to look flawless,” he grumbles.

“Everything you design is flawless, hon. Just pick one and do it.”

“I think I’ll just wait ‘til he gets here. Have him pick one.”

As if on cue, there’s a knock on the door.

“Mr. Hummel!” Jonathon, their assistant, calls. “He’s heeere!”

Kurt rubs tiredly at his eyes. “Let him in.”

Clara lets out a low whistle of approval as the door swings open. “Well, hello there.”

“Hello.”

Kurt jumps.

It can’t be…

“B-Blaine?”

Standing in the doorway, smiling like he did that night at the bar, is Blaine Anderson. “Hey, Kurt.”

He looks out of place in his t-shirt and shorts – hardly a resemblance to any of the other men and women who’ve passed through over the course of a normal day’s work.
Usually celebrities.

“You’re my…you...”

“Wait a minute,” Clara says, stopping her machine long enough to look between the two. “You know each other? Kurt, you know Blaine Anderson?”

“Well, yah, but…”

“Oh. Oh! You don’t know who he is, do you?”

“Who is he?” Completely out of his head in confusion, Kurt looks quickly from Clara to Blaine.

“I’m an author,” Blaine cuts in, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

“You’re being modest,” Clara mumbles, turning back to her machine.

“Blaine?” Kurt asks, cocking his head curiously as he runs his eyes over Blaine’s unprofessional get-up and tired eyes. “Are you famous?” He smiles in disbelief.

Blaine rolls his eyes. “I wrote a couple books. No big deal.”

Clara snorts, but Kurt ignores her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I liked being a stranger for once.” His smile is bright and innocent, and it makes Kurt feel a little light-headed. So different from the man in the bar just weeks ago.

“Well, uh…you’re here for a suit, right?” It’s a stupid question because what else would he be here for? He almost smacks his palm to his head before remembering how terribly insane that would be.

“Right.”

Kurt waves to the wall. “Take a look.”

As Blaine steps forward, Kurt can’t help but stare. Without the dim light of the bar, Blaine looks alive. His skin is smooth and tan, obviously well-taken care of. The t-shirt he wears is baggy, hiding his small frame but not at all shielding his muscles from view. His hair has been gelled down just enough to make it fashionable, and the scruff dusting his jaw has been shaved smooth.

“I searched your name, ya’ know,” he stars, shaking Kurt from his reverie. “I saw some of your designs, Kurt, and they were really incredible. These are incredible.”
He reaches a hand forward to run his fingers over one of the designs, following the lines of a posing silhouette. “I had my agent call your office and set up an appointment as soon as I could.”

Kurt’s embarrassed to find his cheeks heating up. “Thank you, Blaine, I…”

“This one.”

When Kurt just stands there, eyes narrowed, Blaine grabs his hand and tugs until they’re standing side-by-side. He keeps their hands intertwined. Kurt stops breathing.
“The white one,” Blaine whispers, nodding at one of
Kurt’s first sketches when he’d heard about this project.

“Are you sure?” Kurt asks, proud of the fact that he doesn’t stutter. “You’ll probably stand out.”

Smiling sneakily, he says, “That’s the point.”

“It’ll look great on you.”

Suddenly, Clara is popping up between them, casting their clasped hands a quick glance. “You’ll look like a million bucks. White’s your color.”

Blaine chuckles good-naturedly, but Kurt glares at her. “Need something?”

She smiles and kisses him on the cheek. “I gotta go make Ray’s dinner. God knows he can’t do it himself.”

Kurt clenches his free hand. “Tell him to pick something up.”

She waves him off. “You know how he is. I’ll be back in a little bit, but I’m telling Jonathon to pick up some coffee. You look like you need it.” She spins around, grabs her coat, and waves. “Have fun, boys!”

When the door slams shut, Blaine squeezes his hand before pulling away. “By the look on your face, I have a feeling you really don’t like this Ray fellow.”

Kurt shakes his head. “Ray’s her husband.”

Blaine nods like this explains it all.

Probably because it does.

For the sake of changing the subject, Kurt tugs the measuring tape from around his neck and goes to his desk to grab a notebook and pen. Behind him, Blaine watches his every move, frowning just the slightest bit.

“I’ll need to take your measurements. Arms, chest, waist, legs – I’m sure you’ve been through it before.” There’s a bitter edge to his voice, and it’s clear that what just happened got to him.

He stretches the yellow band across Blaine’s shoulders, bites his lip, and pulls away to scribble down a couple numbers.

The next time he lifts the tape, Blaine grabs his hands. “It’s not always like that, you know.”

“Blaine, what are you talking about?”

“Marriage.” For no reason at all, Kurt’s heart skips a beat. “Whatever they have…it’s not always like that. Some people are happy.”

Kurt snorts and pulls his hands away. “And how would you know?” It’s obvious. Right in front of his face. But he doesn’t want to think about it – won’t let himself believe it.

“I just do. Sometimes, our parents get it right.”

Kurt wants to believe so desperately. That not all parents choose for money and, instead, for love. That life is more than getting through it comfortably and that fairy tales are more than just make-believe. It’s an ache in his bones and a weight on his chest. It keeps him awake at night, sometimes.

When he was little, he’d watch the way his parents looked at each other. He’d watch them dance to no music and kiss just because they wanted to. Back then, he believed.

But when his mom died and his father was introduced to Carole, things changed. They tolerated each other. There was no more dancing, no more kissing.
He stopped believing.

“It’s good that you believe that,” he whispers. “Somebody has to.”

“Kurt…”

“Let’s finish up these measurements, okay?” He smiles softly, but Blaine can read well-enough between the lines to know that he’s not really okay.

Nothing he says can fix this, though.

So, while Kurt takes all of the necessary measurements, the only sound is the scratch of pen across paper.

When he’d done with that, he asks Blaine to spin around. “You’ll look so fantastic…”

Blaine turns back around before he can properly map out the way he wants the back of the suit to fit Blaine’s frame.

He steps close before placing his hands on the other man’s shoulders. If Kurt wanted to, he could move his head just the slightest bit and their noses would be brushing.

Their eyes meet.

Kurt takes a deep breath.

Blaine’s eyes move to his lips. “I want to see you again, Kurt.”

This is wrong. He should say no.

But those eyes…

“Can I have your number?”

Kurt doesn’t even hesitate. He just grabs the pen from his back pocket, takes Blaine’s hand, and scrawls the digits across his palm.

In turn, he gets a smile. Soft and gentle and his. “I’ll see you, Kurt.”

“See you…”

And then he’s gone.

Kurt practically falls back against the wall, knocking the pins from a couple designs and sending them floating towards the ground. “What am I doing?”