Kurt tried to stop thinking about the man –Blaine – that night, but he couldn't get the man out of his mind. As he walked home he could hear the sound of a melodious chuckle following him, and when he finally crawled into bed that night it was only to close his eyes and be haunted by a dazzling smile and caramel eyes, the feel of fingers grasping his wrist and warm breath ghosting over his ear. He tried to act as if he wasn't affected. It's not like it was the first time a man had acted interested in him. Even though he'd only just arrived in New York, he had been to college, and whilst there wasn't an abundance of out, gay men walking the streets of Ohio he had been to clubs before, so he wasn't entirely starved of male attention.

But there was something different about this, and it wasn't just the fact that the flirting – because that's what it had been, he was sure – had happened during the day, in a public place rather than at night in at a crowded bar. No, it had nothing to do with the boldness of the move and all to do with the man making it. The man who Kurt knew to be a talented musician (and God if that wasn't a turn on) and who dressed well, even if his style choice did take him straight back to the 1950s. The man whose eyes were pools of gold that left Kurt breathless and a voice that was so smooth and sexy that it sent shivers up Kurt's spine whenever he dropped his guard enough let himself indulge in thoughts of the man. Blaine. God, even the name reminded him of dapper young gentlemen doing the hand jive and grinning at him over a milkshake in an old school diner.

And this time it wasn't just Kurt making things more than they were. Okay, so the dancing and the milkshake may have been the product of an over active imagination and too many times watching Grease, but the way that Blaine acted with him, the flirting, was definitely, one hundred percent real, and Kurt loved it.

Kurt woke again with a smile on his face (nothing to do with dreams of a certain dark haired young man and a tangle of limbs in his bed, no sir) and walked leisurely through to his kitchen to make a pot of coffee. Then he paused. Really, he should treat himself. A non-fat mocha on a Sunday morning, he deserved it, he'd survived his first week. Yes, he should definitely treat himself.

And if he spent twice as long fixing his hair this morning, and slipped into a pair of jeans that he knew made his ass look positively delicious, well. It never hurts to make a little effort.

Kurt paused outside the door to Two Sugars to compose himself. I'm just shaky because I've not had my caffeine yet, that's all. He took a deep breath, lifted his chin and pushed open the door, walking gracefully to the back of the queue. He kept his eyes away from the counter, not wanting to seem too eager – don't want him to think I actually am stalking him. Not that I care what he thinks.

Finally, he reached the front of the line and looked up, a pleasant smile on his face that was carefully constructed to look like he was just being polite, not smiling in anticipation of the warm grin and cheery bowtie and golden eyes and... Oh. Kurt forced his smile to stay in place – I'm not disappointed, why would I be, I just came for the mocha – and gave his order to the blonde man behind the counter. The barista was handsome he supposed, but his skin was a little too pale, his hair too blonde, he preferred dark hair, always had, and his eyes were too blue for his taste. His forced smile stayed frozen on his face when the man handed him his coffee, murmured a quick "thank you" before weaving his way back to his seat in the corner, spilling a few drops onto his shirt and cursing under his breath when he didn't see someone's feet sticking out from under their coffee table and stumbled over them.

It wasn't quite the end to his first week in New York that he'd envisioned. He had coffee stains on his new shirt, he was hungry and found himself gazing longingly at the piece of flapjack a woman across the room was eating, and a feeling of loneliness that he'd not yet felt in the city was starting to sink over him. He frowned at himself, and shook his head a little to dislodge the negative thoughts. He had only been there seven days, what was he expecting, to have a crowd of ready-made friends delivered to his doorstep? He pulled himself quickly out of his slump and pulled his iPod from his pocket and sticking the headphones into his ear. He lost himself in the coffee and the warmth and the music.

"And this is how the story went, I met someone by accident, that blew me away..."

Kurt didn't go back to Two Sugars to look for Blaine on Monday. He went for the coffee. They made really good coffee. And he certainly wasn't disappointed when he was served by the blonde barista again.

So when he walked into the coffee shop on Tuesday morning, too, he was pleasantly surprised to see a familiar face, nothing more. He didn't mentally squeal and flail around like a girl with her first crush.

Not much anyway.

He'd gone in a little later this morning, so there was nobody in front of him in the queue and only two of the sofas were occupied: one by a woman with her son, a cute boy that looked to be about four or five, and a pair of teenage girls chattering quietly by the window. He stepped up to the counter, and as Blaine looked up and made eye contact, and he was finally looking into those beautiful caramel pools once again, his practised smile dissolved into a grin that he simply couldn't stave off.

His cheeks started to tinge red at his blatant enthusiasm at seeing Blaine again, but his embarrassment was short lived as Blaine's grin matched his own.

"Morning, Kurt."

There it was again, the enunciation of the 't' – is he going to do that every time his says my name – and once he'd taken a moment to internally rejoice in the fact that Blaine had remembered his name (there was no playing coy, not even in his own mind any more, he was damned happy to see him again) he replied.

"Good morning, Blaine," he glanced his eyes down to see what bowtie he was wearing today and his grin grew even further, "Nice bowtie."

Blaine's eyes sparkled and he reached his hands up to straighten the pink fabric. "Not enough people can appreciate a good bowtie. I'm glad to see you're one of the few that do."

"I appreciate any good accessory." Kurt lifted his chin in a mock arrogant gesture, and Blaine laughed.

"I can see that." He reached out and ran his fingers over the soft cotton of the cream scarf he'd wrapped around his neck that morning. "I like this."

"Thank you" It was by no means that first time somebody had complemented his clothes, but it was definitely one of the best, and he looked at the floor shyly.

"You're blushing."

Kurt flushed even deeper at that statement, and cleared his throat. "So are you going to get me my drink or what?"

Blaine chuckled and leaned forward on the counter like he had the week before. "It'd be much easier to do that if you'd ordered. You've only been here once; I don't know your order yet." Kurt didn't miss the stress he put on the word yet. "You're the detective, not me, so you'll have to tell me what you want."

"I'm a detective?"

"Well, you're figuring me out, aren't you?"

Kurt found himself grinning again, and he knew it was no use trying to stop it. Blaine was just so... Just so.

"And that makes me a detective now does it?"

"Yes."

"And why's that?"

"Because I'm a mystery," Kurt giggled – God he really was turning into a schoolgirl – at the teasing glint to Blaine's eyes, "But I might let you solve me."

Kurt's giggling stopped instantly as Blaine's voice dropped and he all but whispered that last sentence at him, the teasing edge to his voice disappearing and become entirely serious.

The two men kept eye contact with one another for a while, before Blaine's face softened a little and he smiled gently, his voice still quiet but much softer than the husky tone of before as he asked "So what can I get you, Detective?"

Kurt blinked once, twice, before stammering out, "Um. A grande non-fat mocha. Please."

Blaine nodded at him and gestured towards the corner that Kurt had sat at before. "I'll bring it over, you go sit down."

Kurt smiled in thanks before paying and heading over the sofa, smiling to himself when he reached his seat free from coffee stains. If only Blaine was serving me like this every day.

He only had to wait a couple of minutes before a steaming mug was slid onto the coffee table, and a small ceramic plate set down next to it. If Kurt was honest, he wasn't surprised, and felt his mouth water a little just from looking at the large piece of flapjack. He was surprised, however, when a body plopped down on the sofa next to him, reaching out to tear a piece of flapjack off before pushing the plate further toward Kurt.

"My break starts in ten minutes and it doesn't look like we're going to get a mad rush any time soon, so I thought I'd join you."

Kurt raised his eyebrows at Blaine, but didn't say anything, smiling a little at Blaine's self-assuredness. They sat in silence for a while, passing the plate of flapjack back and forth until the last bite had been swallowed and Blaine cleared his throat, folding one leg under himself and turning to face Kurt.

"So Detective, tell me about yourself."

"What do you want to know?"

"What do you want to tell?"

"Blaine."

"Kurt."

Kurt raised his eyebrows and kept quiet until Blaine sighed and smiled at him again.

"Fine, what's your surname?"

"Hummel."

"Hummel. So Kurt Hummel?"

"Yes."

"Adorable."

Kurt blushed again, something he was starting to find he did a lot in Blaine's company, and gestured at Blaine, as if to ask him to carry on.

"How old are you?"

"23"

"When's you're birthday?"

"March 4th"

"Where do you come from?"

"Lima, Ohio."

Blaine paused in his questioning and his eyes widened, "Oh wow, really? I'm from Westerville!"

Kurt grinned at his enthusiasm, "Small world."

"Just think Kurt, we were only two hours apart! We're practically soul mates." Blaine's smile turned cheeky and he added a little wink for good measure, relishing in the blush creeping up Kurt's cheeks.

"Is that the end of the Spanish inquisition?"

"Nope, I've got plenty more I want to know."

"Well I can't tell you everything all at once; I have to keep some element of mystery."

"I thought the mystery was my job, Detective."

"Well I need something to keep you interested, don't I?" Kurt smirked at him, flashing a wink of his own, and he grinned smugly when Blaine's cheeks tinted a little red for a change.

But Blaine didn't take long to recover, his smile softening and his eyes twinkling again, and next thing Kurt knew Blaine was leaning in towards him, close enough to be able to truly admire the length of his eyelashes and count the few freckles that dotted his hairline that he hadn't been able to see until now. "You don't have to worry, Kurt, I'm plenty interested."

Kurt's breathing stilled and they gazed at each other for a moment before Blaine was lightly squeezing his knee and pulling back, his hand staying on the fabric of his jeans and the heat from his palm all but burning his skin even through the denim.

"Last question: when did you move to New York?"

Kurt blinked a few times to take his focus away from the fingers lightly stroking his knee and back on the conversation. "Last week. Last Monday."

Blaine's eyes widened and he squeezed Kurt's knee a little tighter. "That recently? Wow, you look like you've been here for years. Welcome to the Big Apple, Detective!"

Kurt couldn't help smiling at the nickname (I wonder if that would carry on to the bedroom... No Kurt! Bad thoughts! Inappropriate thoughts! Focus!) and nodded his head. "Yeah, I feel as if I belong here. It's the city of my dreams; I've wanted to live here since I was six."

Blaine's hand resumed its stroking of Kurt's knee, and his smile turned soft, almost tender. "Well then, I'm glad you followed your dreams."

Kurt bit his lip and blushed, looking at his lap, but that only drew his attention back to Blaine's hand on his knee and he soon looked back up again, blue eyes meeting hazel. Just the idea of Blaine being glad he'd met him had his stomach doing loops. In the best possible way.

"So is it my turn to ask you now?"

"Isn't that cheating Detective? Shouldn't you be going through my apartment, checking out my fingerprints, doing back ground checks?"

"I thought you said you were going to give me a clue?"

"Well then, since I'm not one to go back on my word, fire away."

Kurt repeated back that questions that Blaine had asked him and it felt great to be able to put some facts to the man sitting next to him. As Kurt discovered that Blaine Anderson was 22, born on the 17th January in Westerville, Ohio and moved to New York when he was 18 and started college at NYU, the two gravitated further towards each other subconsciously, until by the time Kurt and Blaine had both answered the same questions they were pressed shoulder to shoulder, Blaine's leg still folded under him and pressing against Kurt's thigh, and his hand still rubbing circles on Kurt's knee.

"So now we're even." Kurt fought the urge to blush when he noticed how they were sitting.

"I suppose we are." Blaine smiled down at where their bodies were touching, and squeezed Kurt's knee again before glancing up at the clock. The sight of the hands pointing it out to be midday made his eyebrows furrow a little; as much as he wanted to stay on the sofa talking with Kurt, he needed to get back to work. "My break is over, but I would love to see you again, Kurt Hummel."

Kurt looked up at Blaine through his eyelashes, and Blaine's breath hitched.

"I'd like that very much, Blaine Anderson."

Blaine leant closer towards Kurt and keeping his hand on his knee he reached over with the other to place it at the top of his thigh, so that he was leaning over the taller man, one hand rubbing his knee and the other tracing feather-light strokes from the top of his thigh to his hip and back again. "We best do something about that then, hadn't we Detective?"

Blaine's breath was tickling Kurt's face by this point and he couldn't stop just staring at the man leaning over him. His tanned skin was so smooth, it looked so soft, his eyes even larger and more golden than ever before, his lips plump and pink and just a little bit moist, and those freckles just below his perfectly styled hair...

And then Blaine was gone, no longer even sitting on the sofa, but standing in front of Kurt, his fingers tapping away at an iPhone that looked familiar.

"Oh my God, you're a pyromaniac!"

"And you didn't even notice, Kurt I'm ashamed, I'm beginning to think you're not a real Detective." Blaine winked for what must have been the thousandth time since they'd met the week before. "I put my number in there and texted myself so I have yours. I'll call you tonight and we can sort something out, for this weekend maybe?"

"Okay."

"Okay." Blaine grinned one more time before turning to walk back to his place behind the counter. Kurt gathered together all his things and started walking to the door. Just before he left the building, Blaine's voice called out from behind him.

"I look forward to talking to you later, Detective."

And that one sentence was ringing through his mind for the rest of the day.