“Hey,” he said, nudging him with his leg, “get up. You gotta go, I have work.” Kurt got out of the bed, pulling on a fresh pair of boxers, walking over to his closet to rifle through his seeming endless amount of clothes. The curly headed man in Kurt’s bed stirred, grunting as he squirmed under the covers, opening hi s eyes only to cover them with his hand in pain.

“Uuugh…what? Why is it so bright in here?” He kicked off the covers, his tan skin exposed to Kurt, who continued to search through his closet.

“I said you have to get your stuff and go, I leave for work in twenty minutes.” Finally deciding on an outfit, Kurt yanked them off the hanger, throwing them on the bed before walking over to his boudoir and uncapping his face lotion, rubbing some onto his face, looking back at him through the mirror. The man got out of the bed, haphazardly throwing on his clothes in a hurry, running a hand through his hair. He walked up to Kurt, standing awkwardly next to him.

“Uh, thanks for…last night, Kurt. It was…awesome.” He leaned in to kiss Kurt on the lips, but Kurt moved out of the way, pushing him back gently. “Yeah, okay, great. You’re, er, you’re welcome, Blake.”

“Actually, it’s Bra—“ Shrugging on his jacket, Kurt cut the man off, leading him towards the door.

“I’ll call you... Okay, bye!” And with that, Kurt closed the door on Brad or Blake or whatever his name was, spinning on his heel to go finished getting ready. Walking into the room, he took in the sight before him: bed messed up, clothes scattered on the floor, condom wrapper thrown lazily on the nightstand. He sighed, checking his watch before striding over to start cleaning up. He thought about the previous night (or, at least, what he could remember of it.)

This one-Bob (or was it Ben?) had been…nice. He had that same curly hair, the smooth, olive toned skin. But there was something off…was it the height? Kurt tried to remember, past the haze of alcohol and sex, how tall the man had been. Yep, it was definitely the height; he was too tall, at least half a head taller than Kurt himself. It was all wrong, because Bl—

Kurt stopped the thought before it had time to stick in his head. He had an important meeting this morning; he didn’t have time for unresolved emotion at the moment.

It had been five years since him and Bl—since they had broken up. Five years since, on the very bed that he was currently trying to make, he had left that note. That little piece of paper with two scribbled sentences on it; the two sentences that had ended six years of a commitment. Kurt hadn’t seen Blaine since. Sure, he had tried calling him, e-mailing him, begging for an explanation, for something. But after being ignored, after three months of waiting and agony, he had given up. Given up on ever seeing Blaine again, on trying, on them.

After taking the customary six months to cry and wallow over pint upon pint of ice cream, Kurt forced himself to move on. To forget. That moment, he made himself promise that he would never let himself get hurt that much ever again. And so he went through men, taking them home and fucking them senseless, never letting them stay long enough to develop any feelings of sorts. They were pawns, objects of lust. The last time, decidedly, he had made love was the night before Blaine left.

He was over it. Over him.

Which didn’t explain the fact that every man he brought home faintly resembled him in one way or another: the hair, the height, the musician, etc, etc. They never quite fit the mold exactly, however. This one’s eyebrows were too thin; that one was too short, too skinny, too white. And maybe the same part of him that subconsciously looked for Blaine in other men was the same part that stopped them from being wholly like him. Maybe, in the back of his head, Kurt knew, insisted, even, that they would never be him.

After tiding up the room, Kurt slipped on his shoes, grabbing his keys and wallet off of the table, and slung his messenger bag over his shoulder. Locking the door behind him, he took the escalator down to the lobby, his cab waiting for him, as it did everyday, at the curb. Greeting the doorman, Kurt walked out of the building and into the cab, pulling out his phone and checking it for texts. None. He wasn’t surprised; part of the whole ‘not getting hurt’ thing included having as few friends as possible. Aside from Rachel, who was currently the understudy of some big actress for a Broadway show, and his family back home, Kurt rarely found himself in the presence of people he didn’t have to be with. (Well, save his weekly drunken one-night stands.) When the cab pulled up to the building that was his work, Kurt threw him a twenty and got out, entering the grand structure hurriedly.

Taking the elevator up to his office, Kurt checked his reflection in the mirrored walls of the small space. There was no room for imperfections: every wrinkle must be smoothed out, every button straight, every single strand of hair impeccably coiffed. He had barely just picked off a piece of lint off of his pants when the doors slid open, the buzz of ringing phones and shouting voices breaking the momentary silence. Trekking forward, the strong aroma of coffee filled his senses, the feeling oddly welcoming. Where Blaine had left a void in his heart, Kurt had (attempted) to fill it back up somehow, busying himself and tripling his efforts at work. And it had proved effective: within a year and a half, Kurt had been promoted from assistant director to Head of Men’s Fashions. It was a prestigious title to hold, paid phenomenally, and, most importantly, took up a good chunk of his time. The latter of which he was reminded of as three different people bombarded him at once, handing him his usual coffee (nonfat mocha) asking him about a design (change the color, hem the pants), and reminded him of his meeting (his office, twenty minutes.) After dealing with them, Kurt continued on to his office, looking over a portfolio he had just been handed a few moments before.

“Hi, Kurt.”

Kurt paused, looking up at the voice that had just called out his name. A cute, dough faced man (Shawn?) was smiling up at him eagerly, his cheeks flushed. “Oh, hey there. Shawn, right?”

“Shane, actually.”

Kurt smiled politely, waiting a few seconds before picking up his pace again. “Okay, then.”

“Wait!” Kurt stopped again, this time a bit irked. He really needed to get to his office, he had some calls to take…

“I was….uh, I was wondering if you’d maybe, um, maybe you’d like to go out for coffee sometime…after word?” He stumbled nervously over his words, his eyes never quite meeting Kurt’s.

Shane was an intern at the line, having been working there only for a few months. However, he had automatically taken quite the liking to Kurt, staring at him dreamily, sending him sweets, etc. He was kind, innocent, and adorable.

All the things Kurt steered clear of when it came to men.

“Oh, um…I’m so sorry, Shane, but I’ve been so busy with work lately, I just don’t think I have the time.” Kurt winced as Shane’s face fell, changing from hopeful to defeated.

“Oh, okay. I see.” With a final sympathetic smile, Kurt walked over and opened the door to his office, entering and taking a seat in his desk. He rarely had time to process the previous scene when his boss burst into the room.

“Hummel, there you are! Just the man I need!” Kurt sighed inwardly, checking his watch discreetly: 9:05. She was, of course, ten minutes early. Kurt stood up, extending an arm to shake her hand.

“Hello, Siobhan. You’re early.” She shook his hand, taking a seat when Kurt gestured and did the same.

“Time is money! So, down to business. We need you to lead the new eco-friendly campaign we’re cosponsoring with ExMon Inc., a very wealthy investment firm. We need you to collaborate with their guy, go over sketches, etc, etc. So, when can you start?” She crossed her legs, leaning back into the seat.

Kurt was reluctant. “I don’t know…I mean, the whole ‘green’ movement is kind of three years ago. God forbid I do something that my heart’s not in one hundred percent, you know?” She pursed her lips, pulling out a manila folder from her bag and handing it to Kurt. “Well, I’m not sure if it makes a difference, but this could mean big things for you, Kurt.” She paused, sensing Kurt’s lingering hesitance. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she leaned in closer. “Plus, I think you’ll be very interested in what’s on page three.” Kurt looked at her questioningly before flipping to the page and reading. ..in which the head of the Faux Show-ExMon Inc. collaboration of would be compensated to (if appropriate) the amount of one million dollars, taking away certain…

The rest of the words on the page became a blur, numbers swimming around in Kurt’s head.

One million dollars.

One fucking million dollars.

One million dollars could buy him a lot of shoes. One million dollars could buy him anything he wanted.

One million dollars could buy him a fresh start.

The room suddenly rose in temperature, and Kurt tugged at his collar, the mere thought of that much money making his skin itch nervously. Smiling, Siobhan grabbed Kurt’s hand, shook it, and rose from her seat. “Fantastic. Meeting’s today at four.” She sauntered out of the room, leaving a frozen Kurt Hummel clutching at the folder in his hands in her wake.

~ ~ ~

“Your coffee, Mr. Anderson. Medium drip?”

Blaine smiled up at his assistant, nodding and mouthing a thank you as he balanced the phone between his ear and shoulder. “Mhm. Yes, yes, I see.” Blaine was entire engrossed in his conversation, taking a sip of his coffee before scribbling down some numbers. “And what’s the name of this thing again? Faux Sham? Sure? Oh, Faux Show. And who am I meeting with?”

“Mr. Anderson, Karen is on line two.” His assistant poked her head through the door, waiting for an answer. Blaine faltered, mulling it over for a second before cutting of the person on the other line. “Say, could I call you back? Okay, I—today? In an hour? I…that’s fine, I guess. Okay. Alright, goodbye.” Clicking down on the button, Blaine changed lines, rubbing his throbbing temples his fingers. “Hello? Hi, sweetie. What? No, I can’t…I’ve got this meeting—“muffled shouts erupted from the earpiece, making Blaine flinch. “Look, I’m really sorry, honey, but—Hello? Karen?” Blaine slammed the phone down, sighing audibly before resting his head down on the desk. It had been a long day, and now he had received the news that he would have to stay an extra hour for a business meeting with some fashion line.

He didn’t even like fashion!

…Okay, so that wasn’t true. He didn’t like fashion openly. Not anymore, at least. Not since… He shook his head, prohibiting his thoughts from going there. Desperate to distract himself, he sorted through some files, taking some last minute calls. Before he knew it, he glanced down at his watch, seeing that he had fifteen minutes to get to the meeting. Which was fifteen minutes away. “Shit.” Blaine gathered his papers in his briefcase quickly, dashed out of his office and out of the building to the parking lot. Getting into his car, he sped through traffic, the minutes on the digital clock slowly moving closer and closer to four. He was never late. This must be a sign, he thought. First, Karen getting mad at him, now him, out of all people, running late. Fantastic. When he finally pulled up to the building, (with five minutes to spare) he sprinted up the stairs, missing the elevator completely. Getting to the third floor, he pushed open a door, slowing down his pace to a jog. Where the hell was this meeting?

Sensing his confusion, a nice looking young man waved him over. “Blaine Anderson?” When he nodded, the man pointed to a door down the hallway. “Meeting’s over there, third door to the left.” Barely gasping out a quick thank you, Blaine dashed down the hallway, bursting through the door with seconds to spare. A man was perched over a desk, rifling through some papers, when he entered.

“I am so sorry, I’m never late, I just had traffic and then my phone wasn’t…” Blaine stopped, not wanting to sound like an excuse maker. “I’m Blaine. Blaine Anderson.”

~ ~ ~

Kurt had just started to look over a design for an all hemp business suit when he heard the door slam open. Absorbed in what he was doing, it took him a minute to regain composure. Turning around to see who it was, he froze.

He knew that voice. He could pick out that voice in a crowd of a million people.

Kurt turned around slowly, his heart beating violently in his chest.

“Blaine?”