KPOV

Walking into the cafeteria in my office block with James brought back so many memories. I don’t know whether it’s just today, or something else, but it feels different. It feels more meaningful somehow. It could have something to do with the thick silence that has followed James and me down here. In the elevator there had been nothing but the odd suspicious glance from James’s warm brown eyes. I could feel them rest their gaze on my face even when I wasn’t looking. On our way down to the cafeteria James had donned a simple yet fabulous scarf with flecks of red yarn glimmering through the light grey.

We walk to the counter, order our coffee then sit at an empty table. All of this done in absolute silence. I glance around, taking in every miniscule movement. I watch the river of business people march up to the counter, order their coffee in silence and sit. My face begins to show my judgement of these mundane beings, until I realise...I’ve become one of them. When did that happen? I sigh, without noticing.

Suddenly I hear a bang of a coffee cup on the table and James sighing in frustration, “Okay, what’s wrong? You’ve practically said nothing today. Has something happened at home? Or maybe...”

“James, seriously, nothing’s wrong.” I cut James off from his inevitable stream of inane questions.

James rolls his eyes at my pathetic response. “I know you Kurt,” he leans across the table in an attempt to make eye contact, “Or at least I have known you long enough to know...something is wrong. And it must be clouding you pretty bad because you’re feigning calm.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence as James stared me down. He gave me his ‘tell-me-or-I’ll-literally-throw-things’ look. I decided that the only option (for my face and my friendship) is to tell him. So I did. I told him everything. Everything about my experiences at high school, the curly-haired boy who I loved and how we drifted apart. I didn’t tell him the whole story though. Icouldn’t tell him the...intimate stuff: how his hair felt under my hands when we kissed, how his smile sent warm shivers down my spine, or how proud I felt when he held my hand. So many memories begin replaying in my mind. All the times that I lay on his bed reading Cosmo while he strummed away on his guitar. It all seems so pointless now, but I don’t regret a second of it. No one knows that...except him.

“Oh, Kurt. I...I didn’t know. I mean...I...” James was obviously struggling. He’s been staring into his coffee since I told him, several minutes ago. Whenever he glances up at me, a feeble yet comforting smile appears on his delicate face, but never touches his eyes.

BPOV

As I walk into the kitchen I am confronted by chaos. Egg shell halves scattered across the counters, pots and bowls – with remnants of their contents in – cover every previously free surface. I wrap my cotton robe around me and cough my way through a cloud of flour. The further I move into the kitchen, the more I’m convinced I’ve been burgled by Betty Crocker. There isn’t a space in the entire room that isn’t covered in some form of food product. I slowly realise, the kitchen’s a mess, but the culprit is nowhere to be seen.

I look around warily, not knowing what to expect. “Hello?” I say groggily. No answer. I really don’t need this. Mornings are confusing anyway, but today I am searching for a phantom baker. I feel like a Ghostbuster. “Hello!” I move a little further into the bomb-site. This is seriously frustrating me now. “HELLO?!” I move further but as I do, my foot catches on some kind of mixing bowl and I end up flat on my face, in a puddle of icing sugar. How humiliating.

“I didn’t realise you could make snow angels in icing sugar.” a voice stifled a laugh behind me.

I rose, dusted myself off and turned to face him. “Is this you’re doing?” I utter through gritted teeth.

“Aye, Blaine Anderson, it’s all my doing.” I couldn’t help but smile as Drew quoted the film we’d been watching late last night.

I remember that I’m supposed to be angry, regain my composure and stare into his kind green eyes. “Care to explain?”

“It was going to be a surprise,” I snicker at this comment, and Drew notices, “I…I mean, it obviously was a surprise…” he stutters and stumbles over his words. His confidence appears to have vanished. I stare him down, until he tells me the real reason for his culinary exploits. “Okay, OKAY. I just figured that today might be a bit hard for you so I thought cupcakes would make things better. I was going to ice them in red with sugar strands on top…your favourite.” He walks over to the oven and removes a tray of perfect cupcakes. I just stood there, amazed and wonderstruck, staring at him in disbelief.