Kurt had always pictured his life in New York being more glamorous than it really turned out to be, with a beautifully furnished apartment that was entirely his own, a promising future in musical theatre thanks to his obvious excellence at NYADA, and perhaps even an internship in the offices of one of the many renowned fashion magazines based in the city. Hed even allowed himself to mull over the possibility that he would meet someone- a model, perhaps, or a handsome actor; someone who had ambition and talent to match his own.

The wind had been knocked out of his sails ever so slightly when he found himself struggling to pay the rent in a draughty loft in Bushwick with Santana and Rachel; with only crudely hung curtains separating their individual living spaces and stopping them from killing each other. But hed carried on, looked forward to starting his classes with somewhat naive optimism. He had assumed that, like high school, he would shine brighter than the others, soar higher, excel. His first week at NYADA had felt like a slap in the face, as he realised with a jolt that everyone here had dreams similar to his, and just as much talent. He worked as hard as he could, but he didnt quite get the recognition that he wanted. It was only vaguely comforting knowing that Rachel felt equally put-out by the schools extensive and demanding curriculum, and was faring just as well- or as badly- as he was.

He hadnt had much luck with his big fashion dreams, and even less luck finding his model, or actor, or just anyone, really.

But, as he so often reminds himself, hes in New York City, which is so much better than Ohio, and so wonderfully mesmerising that sometimes he has to just stop and breathe, and attempt to take it all in. He likes it here, hes content- he belongs. And he just knows that something good is coming his way. He just needs to sit back, be patient, and adapt to the pace of his new life in the busiest city in the world.

After a few months the majority of the money his father had supplied to start him off is gone, and he reluctantly joins Santana and Rachel at the Spotlight Diner. To his disgust, hes chiefly assigned dishwashing duties, loading and stacking all day long. Even his clichéd, romantic ideas of being a struggling waiter have been dashed, as hes more often than not forced to spend the entirety of his shift tucked away into the depths of the restaurant, beyond the kitchen, with only the whirring, clanking noises of the dishwasher interrupting the silence. Rachel and Santana are out front, serving customers and performing, probably dancing all over the tables and having a much better time than he is. But its money, and its New York, and in ten years hell regale interviewers and thousands of enthralled fans with tales of his days spent washing dishes in a little diner off Times Square, and itll all be worth it.

Hes at the diner one afternoon, a month or so after the start of his second year of college, loading the dishwasher full of dirty plates. Hed heard Rachel mention something about a new baker starting that day, but he hadnt spent much time thinking about who was replacing old Ada, with her wispy grey hair and shaky hands. From what hed heard, the woman had been a fantastic baker in her time, but over the years had grown clueless and forgetful. Santana had told him that shed received more than one complaint from customers about lumps of butter in frosting or hairs in bread. It was probably best, and not coincidental, that she was leaving- probably heading straight to a nursing home, he thought. Hed assumed that another stout old woman with kind eyes would be assuming her role and that was that.

He didnt expect to be startled out of his rhythmic dishwashing reverie by a voice, a loud "excuse me" sounding over the noises of the dishwasher, and very nearly dropped a plate as he jumped around. Standing there was a boy, likely around his age, dressed in the uniform provided for the bakers. The standard-issue hat was perched on his head atop dark curls, tamed slightly with gel, and the crisp white of his obviously new clothes stood out against his tanned skin. He smiled as Kurt switched the dishwasher off, the roaring noises of the machine subsiding until the only sounds that could be heard were the distant shouts of the chefs in the kitchen as they made up their orders.

"Hi," he started, "Im the new baker. I thought I should come and introduce myself. My names Blaine."

He leaned forward, extending a hand to Kurt, that smile still teasing at his lips. Kurt looked down at the boys hand and fumbled to wipe his own soapy hand on his apron, before reaching out and softly grasping Blaines hand in a gentle handshake.

"Kurt."