If someone had told a young Blaine Anderson that he would one day be honest-to-God worried about his political campaign for senate, he would’ve assumed you had him confused with his father.

His father the lawyer.

His father the straight, no-nonsense, “image matters” Anderson.

Blaine’s passion was music and his life was all about finding the melodies in the world.

But all of that changed when he turned fourteen and came out to his parents. It changed when he was bullied out of his old school for being different. It changed when he lost a very dear friend to close-minded bigotry. It changed as he sat in his college dorm room in Harvard and watched with bated breath as gay marriage was legalized in New York. It changed when he realized that what he really wanted to do with his life was make a difference.

So, yeah, maybe politics wasn’t his first love. Maybe his teenage self was dying a little on the inside every time Blaine threw on a three-piece and stepped in front of podium and gave a speech instead of a solo. But 30-year-old Blaine could only take notice of all those people who thanked him, every day, for being their voice.

And that was why he really needed to get his campaign back on track.

“I still think this is a bad idea, Blaine,” His oldest high school friend, Wesley Chang, said as he perched on the corner of Blaine’s desk and fiddled with a photo of Blaine and his older sister at her wedding.

“Wes, he sounded perfectly friendly over the phone,” Blaine argued, pulling his reading glasses down the bridge of his nose to level his friend with a stare.

“Yeah, well, Daniel didn’t exactly seem evil when you hired him to manage you.”

“Ouch, Wes, low blow,” Blaine frowned. It wasn’t really in his nature to hate, but if there was one person in the world he was reserving that for it had to be Daniel Brickman, his former campaign manager. The man had set him back to square one less than a year before elections. More importantly, Daniel had been a friend of his since law school.

“Sorry,” Wes grimaced knowing he’d touched a sore spot. “I just want you to be careful, Blaine. You’re too quick to trust people—”

“Not anymore.”

“And we know next to nothing about this kid you’re interviewing. He’s a nobody. And he’s young. I just don’t want you to blow whatever chances you have left.”

“Wes, I appreciate your concern. You know I do. You’re a good friend. But we have to start somewhere. Most experienced managers are already backing candidates at this point and…I have a good feeling about this guy.”

“A good feeling? Really, Blaine? Really?”

Blaine smirked and childishly crossed his arms over his chest. “My campaign, my rules. I’m interviewing this kid, so there!”

“Very mature words from our future senator,” Wes sighed before laughing.

“You’re the one who spearheaded this pipe dream.”

“You know I believe in you, Blaine,” Wes said bluntly. Then he glanced down at his watch. “Well, my lunch break is over. Time to go scare some interns,” he grinned wickedly. “Enjoy your interview, don’t get killed or anything by the mystery potential-psycho. Also, call me!”

Blaine chuckled as his friend stepped out of his office and straightened his tie before going back to the reports he’d been studying earlier when Wes had barged in and demanded to know all about the upcoming interview. His numbers were definitely down. He needed some political face-time terribly.

“Mr. Anderson,” Abby Wright’s voice rang through his intercom.
            “Abby, I really need you to call me Blaine,” he reminded her with a smile she couldn’t see but he hoped she could still hear. “I get enough ‘Mr. Anderson’ when I’m out in public.”

“Right. Sorry, Sir,” Abby laughed. Blaine sighed and guessed they’d have to tackle ‘sir’ another day. “Your one o’clock appointment has just arrived. Shall I have him wait?”

Blaine grinned. It was only twelve-fifty. Points for punctuality, at least. “Go ahead and send him in,” he told his secretary, listening as Abby proceeded to give the gentleman directions down the hall to Blaine’s office.

“Blaine,” Abby said conspiratorially once the man was out of earshot.

“Yes?”

“He’s cute,” she giggled before hanging up.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Kurt had sweaty palms. Actual, honest-to-Gaga, first-date jitters type sweaty palms. He didn’t think he’d been this nervous since coming out to his dad back in sophomore year. Or maybe those horrible weeks following his high school bully’s death threat where he’d constantly been looking over his shoulder waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But really, this was just a job interview. It was not life or death. If Blaine Anderson didn’t hire him, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. After all, Kurt had virtually no experience in this field of work anyway. To be honest, the guy would have to be insane to hire him.

And now Kurt was just pep-talking himself into circles.

Just as he reached the ominous oak door with ‘Blaine Anderson’ plated across the front tastefully, his pocket buzzed.

He fished his cell phone out with shaking hands and grinned down at the text.

You’re going to be wonderful! Courage, Kurt! This is nothing compared to what you’ve already faced and succeeded at!

“God love you, Rachel Berry,” Kurt sighed, pocketing his phone and making three quick taps on the door before being beckoned in.

In all of the researching Kurt had accomplished over the weekend with Rachel (in between grudgingly running lines with her for her newest show) he’d, of course, run across several pictures of the esteemed Blaine Anderson. So, of course, he’d known the man was good looking in that prep-school ivy-league kind of way. But, damn, did pictures not do him enough justice. Kurt was fairly certain he could just parade Blaine around the city and garner every straight woman and gay man’s vote.

Blaine had deep, honey-colored eyes and a mop of short-trimmed dark curly hair that kept his slightly lined face looking young and vibrant. He had a great smile and broad, well-filled shoulders encased in a stunning three-piece Armani. Kurt thought he might be drooling as the potential senator rose from his seat and stepped around his desk to shake Kurt’s hand and formally introduce himself.

“You must be, Kurt Hummel,” He said. Kurt nodded, still trying to get his brain to function at a level other than ‘oh yummy eye-candy.’

Say something Kurt. Say anything. Hello. Nice to meet you. Hire me please. Anything!

“You’re a lot shorter in person.” Kurt felt his own eyes bug out of his head as he clapped a hand to his mouth in horror.

Anything but that.

Fortunately, Blaine seemed to find it amusing and threw his head back in a genuine and beautiful chuckle.

“I get that a lot,” he nodded.

“Oh my Gaga, I can’t believe I just actually said that. I am so sorry. I apparently left my mouth-filter at home this morning,” Kurt sighed, mentally trying to remember if there had been any job openings listed in the paper this morning. This interview was already a disaster.

“It’s fine,” Blaine said with a smile. “Really. At least I know you’re honest, right.”

“I guess that is a desirable trait, given your last manager,” Kurt nodded. “Oh God, I did it again,” he sighed then.

Blaine laughed and pointed Kurt to the seat across from his desk before going around and taking up his own chair. “Again, it’s fine.”

“I’m sorry,” Kurt apologized anyway. “I must have developed foot-in-mouth disease over night. I’m not normally this…blunt.”

“Well if your friend…Renee, was it?”

“Rachel.”

“Right. Well, if she’s anything to judge by, I’d say you caught it from her,” Blaine grinned.

“Did she ambush you,” Kurt asked with a sympathizing smile. “She’s bad about that, though she’s gotten a lot better since high school. I’m sorry for her too. Rachel is best in small doses until you get used to her particular brand of crazy.”

“I see,” Blaine nodded. “She certainly spoke very highly of you,” he added with a raised eyebrow.

“She probably knows me better than I know myself,” Kurt admitted with a sheepish smile. “She’s sort of the sister I never had…or wanted.”

            Blaine laughed again. “You’re very funny, Kurt,” he said as he leaned back in his chair a bit. “So tell me about yourself.”

            “Oh…um… well, I moved to New York for college and majored in fashion and business at NYU. I’ve had a few jobs in the industry itself, mostly as a gopher and I once did a design for Paris fashion week but didn’t get to show it because of a family crisis. I’m a perfectionist, which is probably both my biggest strength and weakness. I live in a four-by-four closet in lower-west and I have an addiction to coffee.”

            Blaine smiled at him and nodded, forming a pyramid with his hands and resting his chin there. “Where did you move from?”

            “Lima, Ohio. A horrible place. Seriously, don’t ever go there.”

            Blaine’s eyebrows rose into his hairline in surprise. “Lima? Really?”

            Kurt nodded. “Yes, why?”

            “Well, I went to high school in Westerville. Dalton Academy.”

            Kurt felt his jaw drop in the most horrendously unattractive way. How had he not caught that in all of his weekend research? “Wow.”

            Blaine laughed. “Indeed. Small world, huh?”

            “I…I guess so.”

                        Blaine nodded, a different sort of smile crossing his features now. Something softer, more thoughtful. “Here’s the thing, Kurt,” He said levelly. “I’m sure you’ve heard all about the scandal that was my last manager.” Kurt nodded. “I’m behind in the polls, my campaign is being smeared and what I’m really looking for is someone to work a miracle. I’ve been advised by just about everyone I know to pull out and wait for the next term, but I firmly believe that what I stand for, what I’m fighting for, needs to happen sooner rather than later. So tell me, Kurt, what makes you think you’re right for this job?”

            Kurt took a deep breath and tried to remember everything he and Rachel had discussed this weekend. “I’m not going to lie to you, Mr. Anderson. I have virtually no experience in campaign management and while I’ve been coordinating events most of my life, I’ve never considered it a future profession. But I do believe in your platform. The people you speak for…people like me…we need a voice in senate. I’d be overjoyed if you were that voice and I’d be honored to help you make that happen.”

Blaine gave him a smile like he’d just passed a pop quiz. “If I were to hire you, I’d be taking a huge risk. You realize that, don’t you? As you said, you have no experience. You’re very young and all that I know about you at this point is that you’re gay and you have an excellent sense of humor. Having said all that,” Blaine sighed. “I’ve got this feeling that you can do great things, Kurt Hummel. Or maybe that’s just your friend, Rachel’s, voice in my head. Either way…I’m going out on a limb here.”

            “Are…are you seriously saying what I think you are,” Kurt stammered, his heartbeat hammering in his ears.

            Blaine nodded and reached his hand across the desk. “Welcome aboard, Kurt Hummel. I hope you can work miracles.”

            A tingle shot through Kurt’s arm as he shook his bosses (bosses!) hand. “I won’t let you down,” he promised, because, for the first time in years, Kurt had that overwhelming sensation of being exactly where he was meant to be.