His first night in the city, Kurt slept like a baby. He woke up early, in time to see his clock tick over to seven o'clock, and slipped out of bed, padding barefoot through to the living room and gazing out the window at the skyline, as if to make sure that it wasn't all just a wonderful dream. He watched in rapt amazement as people milled about below him on their ways to work, and listened eagerly to the sound of car horns and just the general noise of the city, and found it hard to believe that this could be his life.

He couldn't wait to get down there and be a part of it.

He hurried back into his bedroom to pick out an outfit for the day – his clothes couldn't be anything less than perfect for his first proper day in New York – and headed into the bathroom, where he indulged in a long, hot shower before just standing in the room for a while and letting the steam from the shower flush out his pores. He spent longer than normal on his normal morning moisturising routine, in case the city air that he'd soaked up last night had created excess oil, and practically floated back through the apartment to his room.

Almost an hour and a half later, his hair neatly styled and his clothes sitting just so, Kurt once again slipped his phone and wallet into his pockets, the action taking him back to his feelings of euphoria from the night before, and he left the apartment with a spring in his step. He had been too caught up in just being in New York the evening before, so he hadn't remembered to keep an eye out for a coffee house, so he decided he would just stop at the first place he came across and hope for the best. Kurt Hummel needed his coffee before he could really function in the morning, and he had yet to buy a proper coffee machine, so it was crucial he find somewhere nearby so that it wouldn't be too much hassle to pop down for a grande non-fat mocha when the craving struck.

As luck would have it, he hadn't even walked for five minutes before he had come across a small coffee shop on the corner of one of the quieter streets. He could tell from just looking at the place that it would soon be his place; it sat just off from the main street and the tall building lining the road had a strange muting effect on the traffic, and through the glass window he could see a number of soft looking sofas and arm chairs, with proper coffee tables, scattered almost haphazardly around the store. About half of the seats were taken up by people who obviously weren't in any hurry to get going, all settled comfortably into their chairs and chattering while they sipped their drinks. There were paintings and drawings hanging all over the walls, what Kurt suspected to be amateur artists hanging their work in the shop as a means of getting recognition, and Kurt found himself falling in love with the place almost instantly. A young girl, probably in her late teens, was walking gracefully through the seats, artfully dodging outstretched legs and inconveniently placed handbags, gathering mugs and plates from people that had obviously finished but still weren't ready to leave the comfort of the store. Her uniform green polo proudly displayed the name of the shop: Two Sugars, and Kurt smiled watching her laugh amiably with a few of the customers as she cleared the tables.

As soon as he opened the door, a bell ringing out sweetly to announce his entry, the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee hit him, and he soaked it in. Now this is what New York's all about. The regular rush of people stopping before work had tapered down so the coffee shop wasn't over run, but was still filled with a low hum of quiet chatter. There were two people in front of him in the queue, but Kurt already knew his order, so he used the time while he was waiting his turn to examine the barista. Dark hair slicked back and neatly parted – far too much gel, his poor hair must feel completely smothered – and a strong jaw bone, impossibly long dark eyelashes and a strong jaw, and a strangely familiar face. He was wearing the same green polo shirt as the girl, but his was buttoned to the top, and Kurt couldn't help smiling at the cheery yellow-and-green polka dot bow tie he had added. Kurt could certainly appreciate accessorising. So now, as if the cosy atmosphere wasn't enough, he had even more incentive to return to Two Sugars.

Finally it was Kurt's turn to order, and he stepped up to the counter with a polite smile.

"Good morning." The barista looked up and made eye contact with him, and a broad smile broke out across his face, "Oh, hello again!"

Again? Where had he...? No, it couldn't be, surely not. But those eyes were so distinctive...

"Oh! Um, hello." Kurt could feel a blush spreading across his cheeks as he realised that the dapper young man behind the counter was the same guy as he'd made the night before. He looked so different, with his hair gelled into submission and his clothes so neat and just different from last night, but now that he realised who it was he didn't know how he hadn't made the connection sooner.

The barista smirked. "You know, if you liked my music so much you should have just said so last night, you didn't need to follow me around." He folded his arms on the counter and leaned forward.

Kurt fought the smile, and instead quirked an eyebrow at him. "What makes you think that it was me following you? For all I know, you could have turned up at the same place as me on purpose."

"Everyone knows it's the musicians that get the stalkers, not the musicians stalking the fans."

Kurt rolled his eyes, forcing his face to stay passive. "Just get me a grande non-fat mocha, or do I have to talk to your supervisor?"

The barista chuckled, and shot Kurt a mock salute. "Yes, sir, that's $3.45. If you go grab a place to sit, I'll bring it over when it's ready." He smiled again, before turning to make the coffee.

Kurt tilted his head in thought – he hadn't taken anybody else's drinks over to them – but decided not to comment, and pivoted on the spot to find the perfect place to sit. He spotted a small loveseat in the back corner, with a quaint, mismatched coffee table sitting in front of it, and he weaved his way over to settle in to the seat, pulling out his phone to send off a couple of texts to Finn and his Dad, wishing them a good morning. He looked up as a figure appeared in front of him.

Without a word, the barista slid a steamy mug of coffee onto the table, and Kurt couldn't help the upturn of his lips at the smell – God, he loved coffee. Just as he was getting ready to say thank you, a plate was slipping onto the table next to the mug, with a large slice of flapjack.

"It's my favourite, cranberry and orange," the barista grinned, "On the house." Kurt could do nothing but blink as the barista, keeping eye contact the whole time, leant down, tore off a corner of the flapjack, and slipped it between his lips - perfectly full, red lips – and chewed, swallowing with a quiet moan that sent a shiver up Kurt's spine. The barista smirked again, as if he knew exactly what he was doing, before shooting Kurt a wink – a wink! – and strolling back to his place behind the counter.

Welcome to New York, he muttered under his breathe, before nibbling on the flapjack himself and stifling a moan of his own.

The next couple of days pass in a flurry of furniture shopping, exploring and just generally settling in. On the Friday Kurt attends a meeting at the high school he's going to start work at in just a few short weeks at the start of September, and he leaves even more enthusiastic than he was before. It's by no means a dream job – the students don't achieve top grades and many of them come from difficult home lives, and school doesn't have much funding so it's running with the bare minimum of materials – but he has visions of himself teaching an up and coming class of ingénues, helping them better their music and, maybe, being what Mr Schue always was to himself and the glee club (minus the tendency to favouritism and obliviousness when it came to the blatant bullying that went on under his nose every day.) Okay, so maybe not Mr Schuester, but he hoped that he would maybe be able to better a few lives while he was there.

On the Saturday, Kurt returns to his exploration of his new home, and in the afternoon, just before dusk, as he strolls along the Hudson River, he comes across a turning he'd not noticed on his walks there before. Intrigued, he turned and walked down the cobblestoned path, curious that there was such an old-school, quaint street in the middle of the city. He passes a few apartment buildings – the kind that look like they're home to more cockroaches than people, and a grocery store, before he sees, at the end of the street, a small bookshop. The sign above the door reads 'Five Fathoms' and the window shows the little shop to be heaving with books.

Kurt pictures the bookshop in his living room, just waiting to be filled, and opens the door. The shop appears to be empty, save for a man reading through an old copy of Shakespeare's 'The Tempest', and the man behind the till, whose back was turned. Kurt browsed the books on the first shelf. There seemed to be no particular order to them, the medley of authors and genres practically spilling off the shelf, and rather than finding it irritating he found it to be strangely endearing.

When Kurt had been deciding on a major at college, he had very nearly chosen to become an English teacher, rather than a music teacher. After receiving his rejection letter from NYADA, it had been hard for Kurt to even think about studying theatre anywhere else, and even when he'd decided to put his talents to teaching he had thought for a while that it would be too hard to teach music, that it would bring back too many memories.

As he got caught up in his past, he flashed back to the night he had announced his decision over dinner.

"I think I've decided what I want to do at college."

It was spring break, and Finn was back from OSU for the week, and Rachel had flown down to Lima to visit him. Things had been tense between Kurt and Rachel even before the NYADA incident – their brief foray into friendship had ended rather spectacularly after she suggested, in front of everyone at glee practice, that perhaps Kurt was embellishing his stories about the bullying so that he would be given a solo at regionals out of pity. "We all know that you don't have the vocal talents to solo at regionals, Kurt, and I know how hard it can be watching your superiors perform and knowing that you'll never be that good, but really, whilst the dramatics are always something that I appreciate, I think that it's simply selfish of you to exaggerate so much to try and guilt us into giving you solos." Kurt had waited for one of his friends to jump to his defence, but even Finn had merely coughed uncomfortably a looked away. That had marked the end of his days in glee club, and the end of his friendships with any of the people he had once regarded as his family.

Finn had come around, making up for his absence as a brother during high school by becoming so fraternal after the NYADA incident that Kurt had to wonder what had made the change, but he never asked. Who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? It had, in fact, been his idea for Kurt to go into teaching. One weekend when Finn came down from OSU, he'd become confused with how to use the oven and Kurt had stepped in to show him what to do.

"Dude, you're really good at that."

"What, switching on the oven? It's not exactly rocket science Finn, no offence."

"No, I meant showing me how to do stuff. Normally people make me feel stupid when I get confused."

And from that moment on, Kurt pulled himself out of his NYADA rejection slump and turned his sights to teaching. He researched courses and colleges, and found the course he wanted at Ohio State. It was his dream university, but he'd realised in the past year how important his family was to him, and he wanted to stay close to them while he put his life back on track.

"I want to be a music teacher."

Everyone around the Hummel-Hudson dinner table stopped eating and looked at him, Finn grinning broadly, Carole smiling at him in pleasant surprise, and his Dad giving him the look that he knew meant "I'm proud of you, Kid."

And for a moment, Kurt was proud of himself too.

And then Rachel Berry, who Kurt had been intentionally ignoring all evening, stood up and nodded her approval, too. "I think that's commendable, Kurt. Some people wouldn't have been able to study music after having been told that their talent is subpar, but I think that it's very brave of you to try to teach people to do what you're not good enough to do yourself. Bravo."

Some people, those who didn't know Rachel, might think that she was joking, or being sarcastic and facetious. But Kurt knew Rachel.

And he tried not to let it get to him. He tried really hard.

"Well fancy running in to you here."

Kurt is jolted out of his trip down memory lane by a smooth, familiar voice, and he looks up to see the man from behind the till standing in front of him, wearing a black polo shirt (buttoned up, of course) and a candy-cane striped bowtie, and a cheeky grin, standing in front of him. Kurt gasped and his hand flew to his chest in shock, and the man laughed.

"I tend to have that effect on people." He chuckled, looking at where his hand was clutching his heart and winking at Kurt – God, this guy and his winks – looking at the book in Kurt's hand. "Ooh, 'The Tightrope Men', interesting choice. I didn't have you pegged for a thriller guy."

"No? What did you think I'd like, then?"

The men slowly and deliberately let his eyes scan up and down Kurt's body, before looking straight into his eyes and saying "Mysteries" in a way that said that he knew exactly what was going on in Kurt's mind.

Kurt hummed in reply, returning his gaze, "I like mysteries, but I'm not very good at them. Maybe you can give me a clue. This guy has been popping up everywhere I go. First he's a guitarist performing at a café. Then, he's a barista, making my coffee, and next thing I know, he's selling books in a cute little bookshop I've discovered. Have you ever read a book about stalking?" Kurt takes the opportunity to be the one to smirk, as the man bares his teeth in a grin.

"Getting a bit ahead of yourself, aren't you sir? I think that you've some wishful thinking going on."

Kurt forces his lips to stop twitching into a smile, and simply rolls his eyes in response.

The man chuckles again, before adding, "Seriously though, if you're so desperate to spend time with me, the least you can do is tell me your name."

Kurt lifts his eyebrow before succumbing to a smile. "Kurt. My name's Kurt."

The man's smile grows even broader, and Kurt watches as his eyes seem to light up as he keeps watching Kurt and tests the name out on his tongue.

"Kurt. Kurt. Kuuuuurt. Kurt."

Every time he repeats it, he over enunciates the 't', and the sound of him name falling from the man's lips – lips that were made to be kissed, it's a sin if they aren't being appreciated - leaves Kurt a little breathless.

"Not going to reciprocate?" Kurt raises his eyebrows expectantly, looking forward to finally being able to give this handsome stranger a name, but the man just chuckles.

"I like to keep people guessing." He winks again – God, this man – and Kurt's lips twitch, once again, in amusement.

"Suit yourself" he sings, before turning gracefully on the spot and starting to walk back to the door (maybe adding a bit more swing to his hips than normal) and just as he reaches out from the door handle a tanned hand is wrapping fingers that obviously belong to a musician around his wrist, and he's being spun back around, his back pressed to the door.

"Blaine. My name's Blaine."

This time Kurt doesn't even try to stop his lips from smiling. "What happened to keeping me guessing?"

Blaine smirks in a way that should not have been as sexy as it was before leaning forward and whispering in Kurt's ear, his voice pitched at a lower, huskier tone that made Kurt's breathe stutter, and a warm tickle of breath caressing his skin. "I thought you needed a clue."

And just as Kurt was sure his heart was going to thump straight out of his chest because there's no way that should have been that hot, it's gone: Blaine's stepped back out of his space and this time it's Kurt left watching as hips swing sinfully away from him.

Before Kurt's been able to compose himself and leave the store, words reach his ears as he realises Blaine is singing something under his breathe.

"All I know is we said hello, and your eyes look like coming home, all I know is a simple name, and everything has changed..."