Honestly, Kurt had just been through the week from hell. He was fully aware of being pathetically dramatic at times, but that was who he was and he knew what he wanted from life. Monday had been the first day of his rehearsals for Broadway - oh god Kurt Hummel was going to be on Broadway! - and he’d absolutely hated it. In fact still to this day, four days later, he was considering just quitting. It seemed like a trend, something got difficult or wasn’t what he was expecting and he’d just leave it but he was getting tired of running away. Everything bad that happened in the past, he’d stood there and just took it, refusing to let it beat him down; yet there was only so much crap one person could take before they just bowed out of anything. First it had been the verbal abuse he got at the bar, and the minute moment of physical abuse from a drunken final year business student from NYU who Kurt was almost entirely sure was questioning his sexuality on a daily basis. Then it had been the complete disaster of his seemingly dream job. Now, Kurt understood the authenticity of stage costumes, he applauded Broadway for having an array of perfect choices, highly detailed pieces to draw the audience in; but being such a huge fan of the musical and fashion together, having minored in history, specifically French history, Kurt just knew it wasn’t right. If his suggestion had been rude, he could understand the treatment and attack he’d gotten for it, but he was polite as could be, tried desperately not to sound superior, said he’d fix it himself if they were too busy. However, that was it, they’d roughly pinned the costume and made it look worse, pricking his bare skin a few times defiantly and muttering behind his back about him, loud enough so they knew he could hear. He’d dealt with that before. He’d dealt with people whispering loudly about his outfits, about his flamboyancy, about his voice, his attitude, personality, rumours which just weren’t true at all, so this shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did. But it put him in a foul enough mood that he wasn’t sure if he wanted to show up the following week.

Then had been Tuesday. Waking up early for his shift at the coffee shop usually wasn’t all that difficult because it was a decent enough job; free coffee and Jen was lovely company to have. It didn’t feel right though that morning, maybe it was the fact Kurt had fallen asleep at his desk in his clothes from the previous day and had more than thirty pages of a word document purely just full of the letter c with the occasional interlude from x and z. Monday night he’d tried, clearly in vain, to complete his half dissertation of an essay about the psychological representation of childhood in his own choice of play scripts after finishing his French essay on the politics and economic stability of the country; reminding himself to read through it and make sure his tiredness hadn’t caused his normal fluency of the subject to drop and stupid mistakes to be made. Regardless, he woke up to his alarm, threw himself in the shower in disgust that he’d fall asleep in his day clothes before simultaneously drying his hair and moisturising his face and neck; there was no time to moisturise his entire body like usual so he’d just have to hope his skin wasn’t going to hate him for walking in the polluted air without the protection of his, admittedly extortionately expensive, moisturiser. He’d thrown on his non-work-regulation jumper over the top of the non-regulation McQueen shirt and his black skinny jeans with black worn leather boots, a complete and utter bargain and which actually had a slight hint of colour to it enough to go with the sharp colour of the coffee shop polo he should have been wearing. With a spray of his hairspray, a loud declaration that he was going out as he grabbed his dark grey pea coat and green Hermes scarf, Kurt had been out the door and at the shop in somewhat record timing. Of course his scatterbrained self had forgotten his lunch, his wallet, his keys and his phone so he was going to just have to hope that Noah hadn’t left the room by the time he got back and that coffee was just going to satisfy his lack of breakfast and lunch.

It had been a quiet enough day at the coffee shop, admittedly, which was to the relief of Kurt and quite possibly Jen who was spending a lot of the day going through bills with a highlighter and sighing loudly whilst Kurt put himself to work cleaning up the tables and floor. Then there was an influx of people and they’d been rushed off their feet nearing the end of Kurt’s shift; Jen had literally begged him not to leave her and there was no way he was that heartless enough to leave her alone. This had resulted in Kurt getting blisters on his heels from overworking these new boots and an unwelcome knock into a pathetic customer who was obviously purposefully trying to gain Kurt’s attention. The first spill, Kurt would admit was his fault, he was rushing around and didn’t see the man at all. It had soaked his jumper and slightly stained the shirt, but it was easy enough to dab off with a damp cloth once he was back in the safety of behind the counter. The second time it had spilled all over the apron he was wearing and it was beginning to get suspicious. When Kurt had been going to clean up the table next to this man, he’d stood up just as Kurt walked past, ultimately walking into him and another cup of coffee spilt down his front. By this time he was fuming, delivering coffee orders without even the decency of a smile and groaning with frustration at every little thing because really was there anything else that could go wrong. He’d left the apron to dry in the back, taking a tray order to the furthest table and once again was in the path of this man, leaving coffee spilt all down his chest of the shirt. Thankfully it wasn’t hot enough to burn but it still was enough for Kurt to drop the tray, breaking the plates and spilling the drinks on it and completely blow up in his face. And the man had the audacity to ask for his number? No chance. He’d never been in this bad of a mood before and was practically fighting back the tears as he collapsed onto a stool in the back room, removing his shirt to assess the damage; unfixable.

By the time Kurt had seem the scratch along the passenger door of his Navigator… Well he was at the end of his tether and just couldn’t anymore. He’d expected some form of sympathy or understanding from Blaine of all people, sure Puck would laugh and tell him to get over it because that was just Puck, but Blaine knew what he was like, he knew what clothes and Les Miserables and his beautifully previously pristine still practically new looking car meant to him; yet the fact he dared to give such an unenthusiastic response, that he was just so frustratingly horrid about it enough to have the audacity to start a fight between them when all Kurt wanted was someone to comfort him, and that someone was always Blaine, Kurt just couldn’t believe it. That was definitely it, he was done with this patheticness, done with trying to be decent and just ended up keeping himself to himself, going along the rest of the week robotic, doing his in class tests, essays, going to work and giving up with talking to Jen about everything and anything to pass the time. Kurt knew he was dramatic, he had the tendency to be slightly hyperbolic over things, yet for someone to say he was overreacting when they knew him, when Blaine probably knew him a little better than everyone else enough to know this was what he was like… well that hurt. He hated this though, hated not being able to speak to Blaine because he was too stubborn to admit that yet maybe when he was upset he was slightly more likely to perhaps exaggerate a little and wouldn’t admit when he himself was in the wrong, but he just needed Blaine. He’d grown accustomed to the musician being there for him no matter what, even if it was just a small chat over coffee, a kind warm hug before going their separate ways and that night… The night they’d fallen asleep tangled together, pressed so close and just so intimate… Kurt thought things had changed, that Blaine could just accept that this was how he was, how he reacted to everything. Clearly not.

It was Friday, the one day of the week when his shift at the coffee shop was later on and after his only class at eight in the morning, Kurt had literally almost an entire six to seven hours to fill in. Of course, he was distracted and exhausted after re-doing the entirety of his French essay until the early hours noting his appalling use of tenses and subjunctives and his cross referencing was, well, not cross referenced at all. After traipsing back to the room after his class, Kurt had unceremoniously collapsed face down into his bed’s collection of pillows and mumbled a warning of do not disturb towards Puck. He’d woken up hours later, stretching out in his clothes and cursing himself again for not changing into something more comfortable. In fact that’s what he did do, pulling on Blaine’s tshirt he’d taken with him from the previous night and his old yoga pants before curling back up and noting that he had a few more hours before he had to get up and get ready to go to work and it wasn’t like he had plans for the weekend so he could get his work done then, right now he was just enjoying being lazy and catching up on his lack of sleep, crawling under the covers and forgetting about the week completely as he drifted off again. Waking up to see the time as 5:48pm, Kurt automatically panicked, jumping out of bed quickly and swapping the yoga pants for his work jeans quickly, running a hand through his hair and pulling on his boots again before running out of the door at lightening speed. The actor wasn’t one for running, he despised it in fact, he wasn’t ever fit enough to run without sounding like a smoker once he’d stopped - gasping for air, but he was going to be so late if he didn’t run. Work started at 6 and he had three minutes to run a fifteen minute walk, which was pretty much impossible. He hadn’t even changed out of Blaine’s tshirt and knew he looked a mess but hopefully there’d be a spare polo he could change into there and if not, well, he’d just have to hope it wasn’t busy so he had the time to fix himself up when he got there.

Kurt bounded through the glass door of the shop with a loud declaration along the lines of “I’m sorry I’m late…” as he rushed through to behind the counter, throwing on an apron completely oblivious to the shop whilst he looked around for a spare polo. “I fell asleep after my class this morning, which isn’t a testament to how terrible my French professor is, I mean he’d pretty amazing and truthfully if he wasn’t ancient I may have put him on my list but just I told you about that essay I wrote for him right? Well it needed to be completely redone so i stayed up the entire night and… God I’m sorry I wasn’t here. Was it busy? Sorry, sorry sor-… Jen?” The actor finally looked out of the back room with a frown, holding a polo in his hands and hoping that he hadn’t just released a ridiculous amount of information to a full coffee shop. True, he considered Jen a close friend now mostly because he did spend an awful lot of his shifts with her and she was surprisingly easy to get along with so he did possibly over share with her as far as the attractiveness of his professors and maybe a few thoughts about a certain musician when probed, but as the blush creeping across his cheek proved, he wasn’t quite ready to share with the entire coffee shop just yet. Walking slowly to the counter, Kurt looked over the shop with a sigh of relief before noticing two familiar figures and partially wanting to just die on the spot right then. Rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, Kurt forget momentarily he was still mad at Blaine and pulled an embarrassed smile on his face, just about to greet him before his expression was replaced with a frown and him turning around quickly to clean up already clean cups and spoons noisily.