“Kurt? Kurt Hummel?”

Kurt plucks the earbud out of his left ear when he hears his name weave in between songs.

“Is that really you?”

Kurt, who had stopped outside of Starbucks to check his text messages, looks up as a young man approaches, eyes widening beneath enviably long, dark lashes, staring at Kurt as if Kurt was Clark Gable reincarnate.

“That’s me,” Kurt replies out of curiosity, but against his better judgment. Having an attractive man gawk at him is flattering, but, at the same time, the awe on his face is a little unsettling, especially since Kurt has no idea what he did to warrant it. Kurt had earned his fair share of admirers after performing in NYADA’s winter musical, Company. Maybe this man knows him from that? Kurt received rave reviews in the school paper for his portrayal of Robert, and ‘Being Alive’ is considered one of his signature songs. But he doesn’t know if he was good enough to earn the heart-eyes aimed his way right now.

Or maybe he had been. He shouldn’t downplay his talent.

Could this man be a student at NYADA that Kurt doesn’t know?

“How can I help you?” he asks.

“I’m … I’m Blaine,” the man says, hand outstretched, rushing forward as if he’s been waiting for this day his entire life. “Blaine Anderson.”

The man introduces himself like his name should mean something to Kurt. And Kurt wishes it did, not just because this man is possibly the most adorable person Kurt has ever met in his life, but because of the fact that he seems to know Kurt, and Kurt has no idea how.

“It’s nice to meet you, Blaine.” Kurt takes Blaine’s hand to shake it, but the man simply holds on, sighing in reverence. It might be a little creepy, but Kurt had better get used to it. When he’s a big name star on Broadway, he’ll have to handle overzealous fans all of the time … and they might not be this polite. Or endearing. Or handsome.

There’s an awkward pause, both men still holding hands but not speaking, expecting the other to go first. Kurt tilts his head in question, and Blaine’s expression changes from joy to confusion.

“I --- I thought you were in Nice on a modeling assignment.” Blaine’s forehead wrinkles, suddenly catching on to the fact that something about this meeting isn’t quite right.

It doesn’t seem to be going the way he thought it would.

Kurt chuckles uncomfortably, afflicted by the same suspicion. “I --- I do work at Vogue, but I’m an intern, not a model.”

“Yes, you are,” Blaine insists, no longer acting like the starry-eyed teenager he was moments ago. Instead, he’s a nervous man trying to make something be true when he’s steadily realizing it’s not.

“Um, Blaine,” Kurt asks, casually removing his hand from Blaine’s grasp, “why do you think I’m a model? And how do you know my name?”

“B-because …” Blaine laughs as if Kurt’s being ridiculous. But it’s a strained laugh, and through Blaine’s expressive, honey-colored eyes, Kurt can see Blaine’s heart breaking “… y-you told me you were. Y-you and I … we’ve been talking online for months now. We’re … we’re kind of … d-dating.” Blaine chokes on that last word, debating if he should have said it, make a bigger fool out of himself than he’s already making.

Kurt shakes his head slowly, trying to make sense of what Blaine’s saying.

“Look …” Blaine reaches into his pocket, hands shaking, and pulls out his phone. “I’ll … I’ll show you.” He unlocks his phone and hands it to Kurt, and Kurt takes it carefully. He scrolls through a screen full of messages – a conversation between Blaine and someone calling themselves Kurt Hummel. Blaine even has the number saved as Kurt Hummel. It’s surreal. The incoming number has a 212 area code, so the messages are coming from somewhere in Manhattan. But then it occurs to Kurt that it’s probably a burner phone so, in fact, whoever is texting Blaine could be anywhere. Kurt comes across a few picture messages and gasps. The photos are of him, ones that he recognizes from the profile Isabelle made him on the Vogue website, specifically from the portfolio that got him hired.

“Those are my pictures,” Kurt admits to a hopeful Blaine, “but these messages … these aren’t from me.” From the corner of his eye, he sees Blaine’s smile fade. “First of all, I didn’t go to high school in New Jersey. I’m from Ohio.”

“Really?” Blaine says. “M-me, too.”

“Oh? Small world,” Kurt says, trying to sound conversational, make something about this situation feel normal even though it’s far from that. “And this French …” Kurt shakes his head. It mentions on Kurt’s Vogue profile that he’s a fluent speaker, so this can’t be a coincidence. Kurt doesn’t know why someone would do this to either of them, but it sends a chill down Kurt’s spine. “Whoever wrote this translated it using Google translate. Very little of this is correct. I’m afraid you’ve been catfished. I would suggest contacting the police maybe?” Kurt hands Blaine’s phone back to him, trying to avoid looking at Blaine’s face. It’s too painful. “I’m so sorry. I really am.”

“No. No, that’s okay.” Blaine selects the messages and hits erase all, then puts the phone back in his pocket. “It’s not your fault. It’s just … I have been sitting in a campus coffee shop every day since the start of this semester, talking to a man who said he was you. I didn’t have a lot of friends when I started at NYU, and this guy - he was sweet, kind, compassionate … and totally lying to me.” He sighs. “I’m such a loser.”

“You’re not a loser,” Kurt says, offended on Blaine’s behalf. “Alright? That guy …” He jabs a finger at the phone in Blaine’s pocket “… that person who’s been lying to you, they’re the loser. Not you, Blaine.”

Blaine nods, but he doesn’t look too convinced, and that kills Kurt because Kurt knows how that feels, to have expectations built up high just to have something come knock them down.

To have bullies knock them down. Whoever that person is on the other end of those text messages is a bully, regardless of why they started doing what they did. It doesn’t matter to Kurt if they’re lonely themselves, or scared of meeting new people in real life. At the moment, looking at Blaine’s splotchy red cheeks and downcast eyes, whoever they are, Kurt has no sympathy for them. They used Kurt’s identity to lie to Blaine and lead him on. It’s unnecessarily cruel.

“Come on. Let me buy you a coffee,” Kurt offers. “Or lunch,” he amends, seeing as coffee might be a sore spot for Blaine now.

“That’s okay. You don't … you don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I do. That jerk used my face and my name to hurt you, and I want to make it up to you, maybe lecture you on the importance of healthy skepticism and Internet safeguards.” Kurt hopes that might earn him a chuckle. It doesn’t. “Besides, now I’m pissed.”

“Why?” Blaine shrugs, probably wondering why Kurt even cares.

“Because you seem like a nice guy. And do you know how hard it is to find a nice guy in this city?”

Blaine’s lips twitch, stretching slightly with the start of a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“If you and I had met at school or in a bar, then maybe we could have gotten to know one another, hit it off normally. But now, I probably don’t have a chance with you, do I?” Kurt’s not trying to flirt with Blaine. He doesn’t want to hurt Blaine more. But this is still an opportunity, and if Kurt has learned one thing about moving to New York without a college acceptance, an apartment, or any semblance of a plan, it’s that he shouldn’t let an opportunity pass him by.

“That’s … that’s not true,” Blaine says.

“It’s not?”

“No. It’s not.”

“Then why don’t we make this awful thing into a good thing?” Kurt suggests. “We’ll eat, we’ll talk, we’ll get to know one another. If anything, at least we could be friends.”

Blaine looks like he’s chewing it over, but from the brick red filling in his cheeks, Kurt can tell he’s embarrassed. And Kurt can’t blame him. But he hopes Blaine can see that he isn’t lying. Blaine does seem like a nice guy - charming, humble, sincere, the kind of guy that, had they met in high school, might have helped Kurt get through, made him feel less lonely.

“I’d like that,” Blaine says finally. It doesn’t sound like an easy decision, but now that he’s made it, Kurt is going to do everything in his power to make sure he doesn’t regret it.

“Great. So, let’s start this over.” Kurt extends his hand again. “My name’s Kurt Hummel, the one and only,” he adds with a haughty hair flip.

“My name’s Blaine.” Blaine takes Kurt’s hand and gives it a shake, a little less than thunderstruck, but Kurt’s okay with that. Kurt has time to convince Blaine of his fabulousness. “Blaine Anderson. It’s nice to finally meet you.”