Roy Mancini, a dark-haired, broad-shouldered, and well-built man with the beginnings of a beer belly he does his best to hide, has been working for Blaine Anderson for ten years, and he honestly doesn't think he's ever had a better boss. Blaine had been just thirty when he'd hired Roy, fresh into the beginnings of a wealth Roy has become used to seeing in his field of work. But one thing Blaine had retained was his great sense of selflessness, of generosity, that Roy has seen, sadly, dwindle down in others until it's completely gone. To Blaine, Roy has been a friend and confidante when he'd had no one else. To Roy, Blaine has been a source of somewhat personal inspiration.

When he'd taken on the job his wife, Tessie, had been late in the pregnancy of their second child, a son they'd named Jacob. When Roy had mentioned it, Blaine hadn't hesitated to give him permission to call off when needed. And when Tessie had gone into labor, Blaine had given him the week off afterward despite it being Fashion Week. Blaine had made gossip headlines arriving to events in a cab, but as he'd later mentioned with a smile as he'd seen Jacob for the first time, "At least they're giving me free publicity."

Roy had gone into the job with, regrettably, a few stereotypes already imprinted deep into his mind: Blaine was young, gay, and attractive, and Roy expected to be seeing a lot of young, gay, and attractive men in his backseat. But he never did, and the few times Blaine ever brought men home they were usually leaving the building and getting into their own cabs, wrinkled shirts and hungover eyes, when he'd pull up to the curb the next morning. It had never happened often, and Roy's glad it hadn't, because the haunted, hollow look in Blaine's eyes always made something uneasy stir deep in Roy's gut.

"You deserve better, you know," he'd said one day, glimpsing into the backseat to see Blaine staring unseeing out the window, mouth pulled down in a frown that had accented his premature stress lines. Blaine had given him a brief look, shrugged, and said nothing else. Roy never brought it up again, afraid he'd somehow overstepped his boundaries as a paid driver, but after that, Blaine hadn't brought any more men by.

And then there had been Jeremy.

Blaine had brought Jeremy—tall and brown-haired and blue-eyed, with sharp, angular features and a constant state of scruff—home after one of his shows, and Roy kept seeing him again and again and again. Whenever Jeremy was around, Blaine was smiling. And after a few months, Blaine had gotten into the car one day to tell Roy that he had proposed, and that Jeremy had said yes. Roy had never seen him look so happy, and his enthusiasm as he'd told Blaine congratulations had been true.

But then, abruptly, they had broken it off a few months after that, and Blaine was back to looking dejected and forlorn, putting on a smile in public but quickly losing it whenever he was alone. And there, in that state of stupor, he had remained until one night when he'd had Roy drive him back to Louis Vuitton and Blaine had emerged less than ten minutes later, a tiny bag in his hand. Roy hadn't asked questions, but he'd snuck a peek at Blaine through the rearview mirror and saw that excited smile, that look of wonderment, that he hadn't seen in so long.

And now, there's Kurt.

Kurt is just a kid, Roy thinks when he sees Kurt leave his own crappy apartment a few days later. He's a starry-eyed kid who eyes up Blaine, then the car, like he's never seen anything better—and if the apartment is any indication, he hasn't.

From the driver's seat, Roy gives a sigh, drums his hands on the wheel. He doesn't know what Blaine is doing, but he hopes to god that Blaine does. He sneaks a peek as they talk just outside the doors, and he hopes that this kid isn't just some passing fancy, or some pretty face who'd taken advantage of Blaine in some way.

When the kid slides into the backseat, Roy watches him run his hand over the leather, then look around. Their eyes meet in the mirror, and Kurt looks shyly down, biting his lip. He seems genuine and more than likely new to the city. Roy sighs, leans back in his seat, and despite his best efforts he fights back a smile, shaking his head as he waits for Blaine to climb in. Blaine introduces them when he does, and Kurt hangs on to his every word.

Roy watches them as he carefully navigates through Manhattan traffic: they speak in hushed tones, and they keep a respectful distance from each other. Blaine is, if nothing else, though, a gentleman, and although it's subdued Roy can hear the soft strains of excitement in their words as they talk about fashion and other things Roy has ever bothered to even try to be able to keep up with. He's a driver for a reason.

Later when he picks them up, he notices immediately that something has changed. They walk closer, hands held loosely between them, and Blaine's hand falls immediately to Kurt's thigh when they slide into the backseat. Kurt doesn't say anything for the rest of the ride as Roy and Blaine discuss the Giants game, but there's an unmistakable smile, lit by the passing glow of the city, on his face.

Roy politely doesn't watch as Blaine walks Kurt to his door, and he waits until Blaine's back in and they're pulled away from the curb to ask, "How'd it go tonight, Mr. Anderson?"

"Blaine," Blaine corrects in the way he's corrected Roy every day for nearly ten years. Roy likes to keep it professional, though, dropping formalities only when he's off the clock. "And it went..." He trails off and sighs happily, leaning against the backseat and bringing a hand up to scrub at his mouth. "Have you ever been really happy, Roy?" he finally asks, face turned in profile as he stares out the window.

"The day I married my wife," Roy says with a chuckle. "And every day since."

Blaine gives a small laugh at that and continues staring out the window. He doesn't say anything else, but Roy knows there's more going on, things Blaine won't divulge as of yet. He lets the silence stretch out, listens to the soft strains of classic rock on the radio, and asks, when they're pulling onto Blaine's street, "Will I be seeing more of this Kurt?"

And those are the words he'd needed to say: Blaine hums happily and gets a look on his face that Roy often sees on his sixteen-year-old, Laura, when she talks about the boys at school she's not allowed to date. It's euphoria, excitement, eagerness, ecstasy. He doesn't even need to hear Blaine's answer to know that it's a yes.

----

The second time that Roy meets Kurt, Kurt is a little more composed. He's still trembling with excitement like a young, eager colt, but his posture is also relaxed, and his eyes don't roam like he's trying to commit his surroundings to memory. He smiles at Roy when he gets in, says hello in a soft voice.

Roy smiles back at him through the rearview mirror. "Good evening, Mr Hummel."

Kurt blinks at that, lips parting, and he stammers when he says, "Uh, just, uh, call me Kurt. Please. Mr. Hummel is a bit too...formal for me."

"Oh, Roy's a formal old man," Blaine teases, shutting the door behind him. He grins at Kurt, nudges his shoulder, and Kurt giggles, biting his lip and looking down. Roy watches the exchange silently, a little taken aback at how quickly they've evolved since the last time he'd driven them both somewhere. In a way, he feels a bit like a parent watching his children growing up, a feeling he knows all too well. "He's stuck in his ways."

Roy almost retaliates with an indignant am not before catching himself, realizing he's been spending way too much time with Jacob lately. "Just doing my job," he says instead, putting the car into gear.

"Doing your job and making me feel like my father are two different things," Blaine says, and Roy feels a strong tug of remorse. He's heard the stories about Blaine's family, the reason why he never goes home, and though he knows that Blaine says it lightheartedly, he thinks that he should have at least known better.

He listens to Kurt tease Blaine in the backseat, hears the age jokes he often gets himself from his wife, and can't help finding himself getting oddly attached. Kurt and Blaine have something that Roy's never seen before, an instant connection, an easy, strong chemistry; he isn't sure exactly how to describe it. It's only the second time Blaine's taken Kurt out, but watching them, you'd think it was the twentieth.

"Roy," Kurt says suddenly, breaking into his thoughts. He leans close to the partition. "How many men would you say have been in this backseat?"

"Kurt!" Blaine exclaims, half-laughing, half-serious, and Kurt just laughs, waves off Blaine's hands when he tries to grab Kurt and pull him back down.

"Oh, I'd say about...hmm, I lost count at fifty or so."

"Roy, you are a liar and I should have you fired right now."

Roy grins, looks through the rearview mirror to see Kurt sitting back down, fighting off Blaine's hands as he laughs. "You'd never fire me, Mr. Anderson. You love my wife's cooking too much, and god knows you'd never have a proper meal if she didn't have me bring you stuff."

"You don't know how to cook?" Kurt gasps.

"I grew up with maids and cooks!" Blaine defends, tugging at his bowtie. "I can cook the basic stuff, but sometimes not cooking is just easier."

"You poor thing," Kurt tsks, fussing over Blaine's collar and pulling an exaggeratedly sympathetic face. Roy can't help but notice the wideness of Blaine's eyes, the attentive way he watches Kurt, and he has to force himself to pay attention to the bright yellow bumper of the cab scant inches from the car. "You're lucky you have me around."

"I am," Blaine says, softly, as he grabs Kurt's wrist, and Roy's almost glad that they're here, because he'd been feeling increasingly voyeuristic, like he'd stumbled upon something he wasn't supposed to see.

And later that night, after Kurt's gone and it's just Blaine, bowtie undone and overcoat flung across the seat beside him, Roy puts the car into park at the curb in front of Blaine's building, turns around and raises a dark eyebrow as he asks, "Well?"

Blaine faces him, worrying his lower lip, and it's a moment before his face breaks out into a wide, wide smile, and Roy smiles back because it's contagious when Blaine is happy. "I asked him to be my boyfriend."

"And?"

Blaine's voice is gently soft, secret. "He said yes."

Roy smiles, blinks back tears. He doesn't usually get emotional, especially like this, but he's close to Blaine, and is becoming increasingly close to Kurt. Hell, he likes the kid even, if he looks past the age difference. "I'm real happy for you, Blaine."

"It's because of you," Blaine says, suddenly. He barrels on, ignoring Roy's confused look. "You told me I deserved better, and I realized that what I was doing wasn't helping. So I waited, and finally my something better came along."

"It's about damn time, too," Roy replies, and Blaine laughs, deep and genuine, and gives him one last smile before opening the door.

"Thank you," Blaine says, pausing. The chilly air whips its way into the car, but they both ignore it. He's gone before Roy can reply, but he knows that he doesn't need to tell Blaine how good it is to see the life, the happiness, back in his eyes after years of slogging around and going day by day through sole motions and routine alone.

And Kurt is just what Blaine had needed.