"What about the future? Do you have any post-graduate plans?" Emma Pillsbury looked up from restraightening the pens on her desk.

"Erm," Blaine glanced at the woman before looking back to where he was scuffing his boots on the leg of the chair. "Marines? Or computer science, maybe."

"Oh, Marines, that's nice. Well, even the Marines would like to see an extracurricular activity on your transcript. It shows commitment: Dedication." The papers in front of her rustled as she flicked through the pages swiftly.

"Well then maybe you should write one in there, and help me out a bit." Blaine chuckled as Miss Pillsbury coughed awkwardly in the silence that followed.

"Do you have any interests? Do you like sports, Blaine?"

"Sort of. I used to play soccer."

"And what did you like about soccer?"

"I don't know."

"Oh, come on, Blaine. Give me more that 'I don't know'. We have lots of different sports teams you could join here; like hockey or football? I hear they're looking for a new kicker, you're quite small so…" The guidance councillor was cut off before she could continue.

"I'm not small." Blaine snapped. Being small implied that he was weak and Blaine was anything but.

The jocks were perceived by everyone else as knights in shining armour, leading the school in a charge to victory. What bullshit. They were the weak ones. Those dumbasses don't know anything: Their muscles make up for their lack of brain cells. They think just because they're at the top of the social food chain that they're better than everyone else. They walk around in their designer clothing, flashing their cash to impress. Natural selection should have cancelled those assholes out years ago.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to offend you."

"S'fine," Blaine slurred.

"Your grades are very good but I you don't seem like the type that would want to join an academic team. How about the glee club? Do you like music?"

"Yeah, but I'm not into any of that show tune... stuff."

"Oh, don't worry. Our glee club is very versatile. I'd like to go to the meeting tomorrow. I think it would be good for you."

"I'll think about it," Blaine huffed, picking up his backpack just at the bell sounded through the corridors. "Thanks, er... Miss Pillsbury."

"You're welcome, Blaine. Remember, if you ever need me, I'll always be here."

"Yeah, I know."

Blaine hated his father for this. Uprooting him again just for his stupid job. It's like he cared more about work than his family. Although, the ever popular Captain Anderson wouldn't dare to think of his son as a loser, no, he was on the soccer team, people loved him. He was a bit short, but he was just a boy, he'd grow. Find himself a nice girlfriend; settle down with a wife, two kids and a dog. Carrying on the Anderson tradition, no matter where his job with the military may take them. But Blaine wasn't a loser; not as far has he was concerned. Blaine had something he valued higher than wealth, beauty and intelligence: self awareness.

Lima was even worse than Westerville. Going to a private school meant that he forgot just how stupid the rest of the world actually was. If he thought some of the students at Dalton were thick, then students at McKinley were on an entirely different level. He'd been there one whole day and he'd already been slammed into lockers, picked on for his size and had an ice drink thrown in his face. But none of that mattered in the grand scheme of things.

"Hello, welcome to the Lima Bean, can I take your order?"

"Erm, actually I was wondering if there were any job vacancies." The voice was high and soft, if Blaine hadn't had looked up from the counter, he could have sworn it was a woman. However, the person standing in front of him was certainly not. He was beautiful. His eyes shone like the stars in the sky Blaine wished so desperately he could reach; the colour of the oceans he dreamed of sailing. His own little world with just him and this glorious stranger. Blaine was staring but he didn't care. The boy's hair was perfectly coiffed, styled with accuracy to make it haphazardly suave. And those lips, God, Blaine could just imagine them on his, moving quickly with a sense of urgency, a perfect contrast to his appearance, or maybe wrapped around his...

"Oh, I know a few jobs you could do..." Blaine murmured.

"Erm, what?"

Fuck.

"Er, I mean, I'm sure there's a job for you. Let me get my boss, hang on." He stammered. Nice going, Blaine. He took a last glance at the mystery guy before disappearing behind a door. He bypassed the shelves of coffee beans and clean mugs, heading towards a door at the end of a relatively short corridor. As he got closer he could hear the sounds of Boston's, More Than A Feeling, turned up full blast accompanied why some out-of-tune droning.

He opened the door to see his boss sat behind a desk, feet up and flicking through the latest copy of Timemagazine; 'singing' along to the radio. Phil Winters was a nice, although to put it bluntly he didn't really give a fuck. "Blaine, you're supposed to be working."

"Yeah, I know. Sorry, Phil, but there's this guy who wants to know if we have any jobs..."

"Well, do you see anybody else working here? No? Then that's your answer. Give him an application form and an interview, then tell me if he's any good."

"I've only worked here for like, a few weeks..."

"And I love you already, you'll be fine." He made a little flicky motion with his hand to indicate where the forms were. "Those things are there, yeah, there. Right, now get out."

Blaine huffed and shut the door to the office. When he got back the boy was stood in the same place he left him, glancing around the room before he spotted Blaine and smiled. Blaine was so focused on getting the form to the stranger he didn't register the rapidly growing queue which now consisted of half a dozen people.

"Shit, er, you can just go fill that out then I'll be with you in a minute, okay?"

"Yeah, I'll just be... over there," He pointed to the corner and Blaine nodded in response and flashed him smile, winking at the same time. He enjoyed seeing the colour rise on the boy's cheeks as he turned to serve the customers he'd left waiting.

"Hello, welcome to the Lima Bean, can I take your order?"

"Sorry about that. I'd rather be over here but 'the customer comes first' and everything." Blaine chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head and pulling out the chair opposite. "Kurt Hummel," Blaine muttered, as he read from the application sheet he'd given the stranger a few minutes ago.

"I'm going to assume that you're reading that, and we don't share the same name." Kurt said.

"Er, yeah, sorry. Again. My name's Blaine."

"I know."

"What?"

"It's on your name tag." Kurt nodded to Blaine's apron where, sure enough, there was a name tag with his name on it.

"Oh yeah," Blaine looked down at his apron, pulling it out as he did so. Kurt laughed. "What?"

"Nothing," He giggled. "The face you just pulled was a bit funny."

"Really?" Blaine purred; leaning forward, putting his elbows on the table and grinning. The other boy blushed again at his actions, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and biting down on it lightly. Blaine's gaze immediately dropped to his lips before glancing back up to Kurt's eyes. He coughed slightly uneasily, eyes darting around, not really sure where to look.

"You don't do this very often do you?" Truth be told, he didn't do 'this' very often either. And when he did, it nearly almost failed.

"Do what?"

"This," He motioned his finger between the two of them.

"Erm, well, I've never applied for a job before, either; which is what I'm supposed to be doing."

"Why, would you rather be doing something else?" Blaine smirked. He was pushing his luck. He'd always liked to think himself a smooth talking guy who could get anyone he wanted, but the truth was, he wasn't. But, for some reason this guy obviously had never received this kind of attention. Blaine could be the one to do that. Kurt stared back, eyes wide and lips parted.

"I see you go to McKinley: senior, right?" Blaine questioned, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest, breaking the only slightly uncomfortable silence. If Kurt went to McKinley, then perhaps the little slice of hell some kids called school wouldn't be as bad as he thought.

"Yeah, how did you…?"

"It's on the sheet." He nodded his head towards the paper.

"It doesn't say I'm a senior..."

"No, but you have written down your birthday." Blaine was good at maths. I mean, it doesn't take a genius to figure out which grade someone is in at school, but Blaine still prided himself in the fact that he'd never got lower than an A in the subject.

"So, which school do you go to?" Kurt coughed, changing the subject.

"I used to go to Dalton Academy out in Westerville?"

"I know it. Their glee club competed against us at Regionals last year." Kurt smiled. He seemed genuinely proud of the fact that he was in the glee club. Wait…

"Hang on; you're in McKinley's glee club?" Kurt was in glee club: this day was just getting better and better. If he was forced to go to this god damn club then at least Kurt was going to be there. Really hot, intelligent, beautiful Kurt, who he was quite blatantly ogling right now. All he needed to do was charm his way into those perfectly tight jeans and the first part of his plan would be complete.

"ANDERSON!" A voice shouted over the general clatter of the coffee shop. Blaine's head shot round, pulling him out of his thoughts of Kurt, to see not only the entire cafe staring at him, but Phil stood behind the counter, hands on his hips, eyebrows raised and indicating the queue which sported several irritated looking customers. "Stop flirting with your boyfriend and get your ass over here to serve these lovely people."

Blaine looked between Kurt and the queue of people which awaited him. He sighed pushed back the chair he was sitting on, making it scrape along the floor and earning even more attention. He stood up and regretfully started walking back over to the counter.

"Blaine," he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around to see Kurt, arm out stretched, holding his job application form. "I have to go, because I, er, I'm supposed to be making dinner, but you can call me… or something. Okay, bye." He handed him the piece of paper and waved coyly as he walked out the door, leaving Blaine standing there, eyed by quite a few impatient shoppers.