Just press send, Blaine. Just press send. Send. Press send. He gave you his number, he wants you to call him.

It was 10:04. Blaine’s finger hovered over the screen until…

10:05.

Send.

His heart picked up speed with each ring. Kurt picked up on the 5th.

“Hello?”

“Kurt?”

“Yes.”

“It's Blaine. From Burt's this morning.”

Kurt didn’t say anything, so Blaine continued, “The dork that couldn’t remember how to order coffee?”

“Yeah. Blaine, look. Quinn, she was working this morning, too, and she thought it would be funny to put my number on your cup, but the thing is, I’m just not interested. So, I’m sorry she led you on.”

“Oh.” He sounded heartbroken. Dammit, Quinn, why are you making me break his heart, Kurt thought with dismay.

“Bye, Blaine.” Kurt hung up before Blaine could say anything else.

Blaine stared at his phone in disbelief. Did that really just happen? He was shot down. Denied. He was taken aback, sure, but Blaine Anderson was nothing if not freakishly optimistic. Maybe he could get to know Kurt, the barista, at his coffee shop on 85th. Because Blaine always needed coffee.

“Mr. Anderson, thank you for your interest in our company. Tell me, though, what exactly is your degree in?”

“Well, I double majored in music performance and creative writing and minored in Italian at New York University.”

“That’s an… interesting combination. Where did you work before coming here?”

“I was a courier for Weston & Jenkins.”

“And why were you fired?”

“Ummmm… cuts due to the economic downturn.”

“Uh huh.”

Blaine hung his head. He had never been a good liar. “I was delivering a time sensitive package and I got distracted by my friend, a street performer, and I was so caught up in singing with her that I didn’t see my bike and the package get stolen.”

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Anderson. We’ll be in touch.”

Blaine sighed. No, they wouldn’t. This was his fifth interview this week. He was exhausted and discouraged. He was also desperate. His rent was due soon, and he really needed a job. As he made his way to Burt's, Blaine finally relented to the possibility of a job in—cringe—food service or retail. He didn’t want to resort to this. He had a $100,000 education, dammit!

As he neared the coffee shop, his mood began to lighten considerably. That always happened when he was with Kurt, which, much to Kurt’s annoyance, had happened every day since their initial meeting. He wasn’t being pushy, just ordering his small medium drip—he had to downgrade due to limited funds—with a gracious smile and a nod of his head. Nothing more. He would work up to a conversation someday. Besides, Blaine had a feeling in his gut, a good kind of feeling that he just couldn’t—and wouldn’t—ignore.

He turned the corner and saw Quinn in the window. She smiled and waved and continued hanging a sign on the front door. Blaine’s jaw hit the sidewalk when he read the large red letters.

HELP WANTED.

Fate, Blaine decided. It was fate. And he wasn’t going to let something that was fate pass him by. He marched himself in the door and straight to the counter.

“Kurt, I want the job. And a small medium drip. Please.”

“Small medium drip, yes. Job, no.”

“Kurt!” Quinn exclaimed, “We need help!”

“Yes, but not his help. Anyone but him!”

“Please guys,” Blaine put on his puppy dog eyes. “Look, I’m desperate here. My rent’s due and I was fired last week and I’ve been on five job interviews in the past three days and everyone has turned me down. I’m desperate, Kurt, please. I’ll do anything.”

Damn, this guy was good, Kurt thought. I actually feel kind of bad for him.
He sighed, looking between Quinn’s pleading face and Blaine’s stupid but undeniably adorable puppy dog eyes.

“Fine. You’re hired. Can you start now?”

“Yes, but—“

“But?”

“But how can you hire me?”

“Honey, I own the place.”

“What? But you—you work the front… why—?”

“Short-staffed. Now come on. I’ll get you an apron. Do you have any barista experience?”

“Only ordering from one.”

Kurt sighed audibly. Crap. Now I have to teach him, Kurt thought with annoyance. I just can’t get rid of this kid can I?

“Alright. Well come on then. You can start by wiping down the tables and taking out the trash.”

Kurt led Blaine through the small back kitchen to a tiny office where he had Blaine fill out some paperwork before he handed his new employee a blue apron.

“So—” Blaine began, but Kurt cut him off.

“What do you want from me, Blaine?” Kurt muttered, his blue eyes piercing Blaine’s hazel ones.

“I—” Blaine cleared his throat. “I need this job. And I… I feel like you need a… a friend.”

“Huh,” Kurt continued staring at Blaine, though his gaze softened ever so slightly. “Well, the custodial supplies are in that cupboard. The afternoon rush is starting soon so I have to get back out to help Quinn. You can start now…”

“Right! Yes, sir!” Blaine saluted him with a goofy grin.

“Funny,” Kurt deadpanned.

The rest of the afternoon went by quickly, and Blaine was surprised at how enjoyable he found performing the menial tasks Kurt threw at him. He eagerly emptied garbage cans and swept rugs and wiped up spilt coffee at Kurt’s every call.

“Well he certainly is eager to please,” Quinn murmured as Blaine practically skipped into the kitchen to wash dishes.

Kurt just rolled his eyes. “I’m not complaining!”

Blaine left shortly after closing, and only after Kurt promised there was nothing else he could do. Blaine thanked him profusely and skipped out the door, declaring he’d see them bright and early the following morning.

“He’s perfect, Kurt. Admit it.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Kuuuuuuurt!”

“Goodnight, Quinn.”

The next week of Blaine’s employment at Burt’s Coffee continued in the same fashion as his first day. And Kurt was getting used to seeing the man’s dark curls bobbing around the shop, clearing tables, speaking happily with customers, offering refills.

“I need Wednesday off, Kurt.”

“Why, Q? You know I need you here.”

“Rach has an afternoon performance and I want to be there for her.”

“But Quinn—”

“Come on, Kurt. You have Blaine to help now.”

“But he can’t make drinks or bake. He’s basically the janitor.”

“Then teach him. You have four days. Please. This is important. To Rachel.”

Kurt sighed and conceded, earning him a kiss on the cheek from Quinn.

The first night of training did not go so well. Blaine tried to be all charming and clever, but only annoyed Kurt so much that he grabbed the curly haired man and physically removed him from the shop. Only the next day, after a stern talking to from Quinn, did Kurt apologize to Blaine and agree to continue training him. Blaine came to the next session more subdued, but suddenly they were bonding over the old tune on the radio--a Katy Perry song he remembered singing in high school. Kurt relaxed after that, letting Blaine ask more personal questions and asking a few himself. By the third night, they were more comfortable around each other, Kurt easily guiding Blaine through the steps of latte-making and pastry-icing.

It was Blaine’s third night of lessons. He was pleasantly surprised at how much Kurt opened up when the two of them were alone. Blaine would ask about an interest of Kurt’s and then become enraptured by Kurt’s passionate discourse about singing or gay rights or Times Square at night or Burt, who Blaine learned was Kurt’s late father.

Coincidentally, Blaine realized the two had grown up only hours apart in Ohio, and could have met had Blaine never come to live in New York with his brother after his own parents’ deaths.

Blaine loved getting to know this side of Kurt, and Kurt began to realize he actually didn’t mind Blaine’s company so much. He was a good listener, and somehow he knew exactly what to say to elicit a laugh from Kurt. He was getting under Kurt’s skin, in a good way, in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Kurt lost himself in thought as he and Blaine fell into a comfortable silence. Blaine was attempting to master the milk-steaming machine, because, after three days he still couldn’t get the hang of the damn thing.

Kurt was humming along to the radio and rolling the dough for pastries when his elbow collided with the flour jar, knocking it to the floor via his big toe. He yelped, startling Blaine who, once again, ruined the milk he was steaming. This time the milk ended up all over Blaine right arm and he hissed in pain when the hot liquid hit his skin. Kurt, rushing to Blaine’s aid, tripped over the fallen flour jar and rammed into Blaine, sending the two men tumbling to the floor.

They remained still for a second, Kurt prone on top of Blaine, surprised expressions on their faces, before a deep laugh rumbled from Blaine’s chest. Kurt joined in, letting his head fall on Blaine’s chest as their bodies shook with laughter. Blaine brought his hand to Kurt’s back, rubbing soothing circles as their giggles died down.

Kurt lifted his head to look at Blaine—his strong, lightly stubbled jaw, his shining gold eyes. And then Kurt’s eyes went to his lips. They were… perfect. Kurt just wanted to…

He was leaning down before he knew what was happening. He stopped; he was so close, breaths mingling, hearts racing in the chests that were pressed close. Blaine’s hand moved to lightly stroke Kurt’s smooth cheek.

And then Kurt was closing the gap, lips softly, chastely pressing against Blaine’s, his stomach swooping, fireworks exploding behind his eyes; it was like every cliche in the book, and it was too good to be true. He quickly pulled back to look at Blaine, whose eyes remained closed.

“I—” Kurt began, but Blaine stopped him with a finger to his lips, his other hand cupping Kurt’s face, thumb stroking across the skin.

“You don’t have to say anything.”

So Kurt didn’t. Instead he leaned back down to capture Blaine’s lips in a stronger, deeper embrace. Kurt’s hands danced over Blaine’s shoulders and chest. He sighed a slow, contented sigh and released Blaine’s lips. To Blaine’s dismay, he rolled off of him and stood up, offering a hand to Blaine and helping him up as well. He took Blaine’s arm and inspected the small red marks the steamed milk left behind.

“Come on,” he whispered, taking Blaine’s hand and guiding him to the door that led to Kurt’s apartment above the coffee shop.