The streets of Paris were quiet in the mornings. Kurt had noticed this when he'd first opened his eyes on Saturday morning, expecting to hear the sound of honking horns, car alarms, people yelling; the sounds he was accustomed to from living in New York. But instead, only the faint sounds of early morning cars roaming the streets, and the pitter patter of light rain tapping on his window could be heard.

If the quiet mornings weren't enough, the best part of Paris was the music that started after breakfast, and gradually increased in volume as the day progressed. That was the kind of sound Kurt enjoyed; preferred.

His housemaid constantly complained about it, shaking her fist at the window in defiance and mumbling things in French that Kurt was sure were swears. The music bothered her, but not him.

Since that first day, Kurt had wandered down the streets of Paris every afternoon, listening to the music of the buskers and occasionally stopping to deposit money into a particularly good performer's guitar case.

There was one performer though, a young man who looked around Kurt's age, who was Kurt's absolute favourite. He played his guitar without a pick, standing on the corner of a side street and singing joyous French tunes about love and happiness. He was a little ray of sunshine, dark curly hair mussed wildly, bright hazel eyes, and a smile that lit up the entire street. He was gorgeous in all the right ways, and Kurt couldn't help but stop and stare from afar every single day, watching the man sing his heart out and brighten up the street with his lovely music.

Kurt never stopped directly in front of him, afraid of seeming too eager or obsessed. He stood to the side, a few feet away, and watched. Sometimes the man would notice him, smile in his direction, and continue performing. Kurt blushed and looked at the ground every single time.

    It was on a Thursday, the sixth day of Kurt's Paris getaway, when the man finally spoke to him.

"Tu aimez la musique?" he asked, flashing a brilliant smile in Kurt's direction and putting down his guitar.

What? Kurt was momentarily confused, and a bit shocked that the man he'd been watching for a week was actually speaking to him. He tried to understand... something about music?

"Oui." Kurt said, hoping yes was the right answer to the question.

"C'est une bonne chose! Je suis content que ça tu plaira!" the man had walked over to him, and was now standing beside him with that big smile on his face. "Quel est votre favori?"

Kurt wished he'd have brought his French-English dictionary with him, although he probably would have looked idiotic thumbing through the pages of a dictionary during a conversation.

"I-I'm sorry. I... um... je ne... um... je ne parle français?" he probably sounded like the biggest idiot; he doubted the man could even understand him.

Something flashed in the man's eyes and he smiled even wider. "You're an American?"

Kurt was stunned momentarily at the suddenly English speaking man in front of him. Though he was no longer speaking French, the heavy accent on his tongue made Kurt's heart flutter.

"Y-yeah," Kurt nodded, and he wondered if he was making a good impression or just humiliating himself. "I'm from Ohio."

"Ohio? That is far, right?" the man asked, and then he held out his hand. "It's good to meet you. My name is Blaine."

"Well actually I live in New York but I was born in Ohio. But yeah, it's still pretty far. Pretty expensive too," Kurt laughed to himself, and then realized that Blaine was still holding out his hand. "Oh, sorry!" he took it and warmth enveloped his fingers. "I'm Kurt."

"I've always wanted to visit New York," Blaine said with a smile. "Paris can be a bit tiring."

"I don't think so," Kurt said. "It's wonderful here."

Blaine grinned and looked toward his guitar. "So did you not understand what I was asking before?"

"Um... no. Sorry," Kurt felt his cheeks burn, regretting his little Oui in reply to Blaine's question before; he hadn't even understood. Surely Blaine was judging him by now.

"I was just asking if you liked the music! You come by quite often so I wondered what song was your favorite?" Blaine picked up the guitar, slipping the strap around his shoulders. "I'd like to play it for you."

The burn in Kurt's cheeks did not disappear. "O-oh, you don't have to do that."

"I want to!" Blaine replied enthusiastically, gesturing to his guitar. "Just tell me which one and I'll play!"

"Okay," Kurt laughed shakily. "I... I really like that one about the sun? I don't even know what the words mean but it makes me... smile."

"L'amour au Soleil?" Blaine asked, and Kurt felt another little trill at Blaine's language switch. "I wrote that one myself. It's about a summer romance." Blaine winked and Kurt let out a giggle, then coughed in an attempt to disguise it.

"That one, then. Yeah." Kurt smiled.

"Well, I'll play my very best." Blaine said, reaching up to tune his guitar.

Kurt was about to say You always play your very best but Blaine had already turned and was strumming the beginning chords of the song. He looked at Kurt as he began to sing, that blinding white smile already wide on his face.

Kurt understood nothing, but tapped his foot and swayed to the music, never taking his eyes off Blaine. At a few points in the song, Blaine would seem to smile even wider at Kurt, and Kurt assumed there was a funny lyric or joke that he was missing. But it didn't matter. All that mattered was Blaine. And the music. But mostly Blaine.

A few people stopped to drop change in Blaine's guitar case, and Blaine nodded to each person, smile plastered to his face. When the song ended, he shrugged off the guitar and placed it in the case.

"You're finished?" Kurt asked, and couldn't help but feel disappointed.

"Early," Blaine smiled. "I'm taking someone for coffee."

"Oh," Kurt nodded in understanding. "Well... have a good time."

Blaine rolled his eyes. "Kurt, would you like to have coffee with me?"

This man was full of surprises, and Kurt definitely wasn't complaining. "Uh... yes. Yes, that would be... I... yes." he blushed again, watching as Blaine picked up his guitar case and held it under his arm.

"I need to bring this back to my home. I'll meet you at that café in fifteen minutes?" Blaine nodded to the little café across the street.

"Sounds good," Kurt was smiling like an idiot, he was sure. "I'll see you then."

He shouldn't have been alarmed when Blaine leaned forward and pressed a small kiss to his right cheek, and then another kiss to his left one. It was customary in France, of course, but Kurt was a little too distracted by the soft smile and warm eyes that greeted him when Blaine pulled away, to really remember.

"See you then." Blaine repeated quietly, and then turned around and walked the other way, Kurt staring after him.

The streets of Paris were quiet in the mornings. But Kurt liked the afternoons much better.