The sun was shining, the birds were singing (or, rather, squawking), the traffic was blaring, and Kurt’s alarm clock went off at exactly 8:00am. He smiled as he awoke and promptly jumped up from the mattress while Blaine smothered his head under a pillow, burying himself deeper under the covers in protest. Kurt hopped into the bathroom and stared determinedly at his reflection in the mirror over the sink. His ocean blue eyes glimmered readily and his lips curled upward at himself.

Today was the day—the first day of Kurt’s internship.

He went through his daily morning routine speedily yet precise. He emerged from the bathroom smelling like lavender shampoo with his hair perfectly coiffed, donning the meticulously planned outfit that he had picked out a few days in advance for such a significant occasion. Blaine was now out of bed wearing his boxers and a Dalton sweatshirt. He stretched his arms over his head as a pair of dark rectangular framed glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, making Kurt wonder why his boyfriend insisted on wearing contact lenses every single day—he looked terribly handsome and astute in glasses.

“Morning,” Blaine greeted pleasantly. His eyes caught a glance of Kurt’s fitted blazer and powder blue dress shirt underneath. A skinny black tie hung from his neck that matched his ultra-tight jeans and favorite Alexander McQueen boots. Blaine nodded appreciatively. “You look great.”

Kurt struck a pose and grinned. “If I’m going to be interning at Vogue, I’d better dress the part.”

“You always dress that part,” Blaine laughed, moving past Kurt into the bathroom. “Mind if I take over the bathroom?”

“Not at all,” Kurt responded while stepping out of the doorway. “I’ll start the coffee.”

Kurt made his way into the kitchen as he heard Blaine start the shower. Just as he was filling the coffee maker with coffee grounds, dainty footsteps could be heard just outside the room. A disheveled looking Rachel appeared in the doorway, rubbing her eyes sleepily. She was still clad in her pink robe and slippers, a bouncy ponytail wagging behind her head.

“Well, well, well,” Kurt began teasingly. “Look who finally decided to join the living.”

Rachel took a seat at the kitchen table and let her face fall into her hands. “I got in so late last night—my flight was delayed and the taxi driver got lost somewhere up in Hell’s Kitchen…I didn’t get to bed until two in the morning.”

Kurt shot a quick, sympathetic look over his shoulder at his friend and reached for the kettle to make her some tea. “Besides that tragedy, how was your Thanksgiving?”

“My dads still haven’t grasped the concept of thoroughly cooking raw meat,” Rachel explained a bit perturbed. “So we ended up ordering takeout…but it was nice seeing them again.”

“That sounds both lovely and disease-ridden,” Kurt commented smugly as he poured two cups of coffee. “Blaine and I had a wonderful time. Carole made a delicious dinner, I demonstrated to my dad the correct way to go Black Friday shopping, and we watched the football game with He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named—“

Rachel’s eyes narrowed instinctively. A snarl crept into her voice that Kurt hardly ever heard unless she was singing something rather vicious. “Kurt, do not mention him anymore.”

“I didn’t even say a name,” Kurt defended casually, shrugging his shoulders as he gingerly poured Rachel a cup of tea from the boiling kettle. There was a slight detection of sarcasm and annoyance in his voice that did not go unnoticed by Rachel. “I could have been referring to Lord Voldemort for all you know…”

“I know quite well who you’re talking about,” Rachel snapped irritably. The small brunette lifted her head up from her hands and stared threateningly at the back of Kurt’s head as he stirred his coffee on the countertop. “And, for your information, I don’t care to even think about Finn Hudson anymore!”

Kurt couldn’t hold it in any longer. The diva pivoted on his heel to face Rachel and flashed his best ‘bitch, please’ glare, complete with a single raised eyebrow and a popped hip. “You think about him constantly, Rachel, otherwise it wouldn’t bother you so much when someone mentions him!”

Rachel inhaled deeply through her mouth and raised a finger, about to speak, when Blaine sauntered into the kitchen. The dark haired boy clearly didn’t know what he had just interrupted judging by the congenial smile that was spread across his face. A pair of jeans and a plaid shirt under a red cardigan now substituted his pajamas as he walked past an irritated Rachel sitting at the table. Oblivious, Blaine nodded politely in her direction and grabbed his coffee mug off the countertop. His lips barely touched the rim of the mug when he noticed Kurt’s fiery expression and Rachel’s melodramatic pout. He paused and glanced back and forth between the two.

“Why is everyone looking so tense?” He wondered innocently. Kurt heaved a sigh at his boyfriend’s endearingly miserable skills of perception.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kurt told him calmly. His eyes shot a harsh glare at Rachel. “The conversation is over.”

In a huff, Rachel stood and made one of her infamous dramatic storm-offs. Kurt and Blaine watched her leave silently until the slender brunette lifted his own mug from the counter. Blaine, even more confused, looked expectantly at Kurt and ran a hand through the back of his freshly gelled hair.

“I’m afraid to ask, but what was that about?” He questioned.

Kurt took a sip of his steaming coffee and rolled his eyes. “Oh, just the trials and tribulations of Finchel’s not-quite-so-romantic-yet-incredibly-frustrating melodrama of a relationship.”

Blaine snorted in amusement and bumped Kurt with his shoulder. “Stop playing match-maker—they’ll sort everything out on their own if they truly want to.”

Another—more playful—‘bitch, please’ look began to form on Kurt’s face. “Do you want to live with a Miss Rachel Berry who’s suffering through a severe case of relationship angst?”

Blaine hardly took a moment to consider. “Point taken—permission to match-make is granted.”

Kurt drank a few more sips of coffee before glancing at the microwave clock and squealed excitedly. He scurried about the kitchen, collecting his belongings as he went while Blaine stayed put—coolly sipping his coffee as his eyes followed Kurt around the room amusedly. Finally, the slender brunette stood still in the doorway with his messenger bag slung over his shoulder and his eyes twinkling excitedly. A definitive sigh left his mouth as he caught Blaine’s gaze.

“Wish me luck?” Kurt grinned, standing tall, poised, and ready to go. Blaine put his mug down and moved toward his boyfriend with a similar smile.

“Good luck—I know you’ll be amazing,” The dark haired boy took Kurt’s hands in his and pecked the taller boy’s lips. “I can’t wait to hear all about it when I get home from class.”

“Whether you like it or not,” Kurt confirmed. He began making his way toward the front door, calling things out as he went. “Have a good day—see you when you get home—and please bring Rachel her tea before it gets too cold!”

After a whirlwind of excitement and nerves, the front door closed, leaving Blaine chuckling to himself as he grabbed Rachel’s abandoned cup of tea and started walking toward her bedroom door.

After a decidedly unglamorous and mildly frustrating subway ride to Midtown, Kurt arrived outside the revolving doors of Vogue Magazine’s New York office Headquarters. Perhaps it was the sheer exuberance of landing his dream job or the flawlessly dressed manikins posing in the display windows that was causing adrenaline to pulse through Kurt’s veins, but, regardless, he wobbled his way into the lobby—breathless and awestruck.

As he stood on the sparkling marble floor in front of the receptionist’s desk, glancing back and forth between the various magazine covers hanging on the walls from previous issues (and being able to recognize each and every one of them), Kurt suddenly felt like he belonged. A soft ding echoed through the lobby and the elevator doors opened to reveal Ren, looking sharp in what was most likely another Armani suit.

“Kurt!” Ren greeted, eyes beaming and grin widening. “Welcome!”

Seeing Ren’s warm, familiar face elicited an audible sigh from Kurt. “Could you pinch me to make sure I’m not still dreaming?”

Ren laughed, light and musical. With his hand, he gestured toward the grand lobby before them. “It’s pretty overwhelming, isn’t it?”

Kurt merely nodded, unable to produce any sort of comprehensible sound. His ocean eyes continued to scan the interior of the room when Ren clapped his hands together jovially, bringing Kurt back to reality.

“Let’s get started! We have a lot to do and so much to teach you,” Ren placed his hands on Kurt’s shoulders and led the younger boy toward the elevators. On his way, he glanced back at the receptionist behind the main desk. “Olivia—this is Kurt Hummel, our new intern. Sign him in, please. He’s with me today.”

The pretty blond girl nodded and began to type away on the computer as Kurt and Ren disappeared inside the golden elevator. The sound of tacky jazz music was softly playing in the background once the doors closed, but Kurt was too mesmerized to make one of his usual snarky comments. Ren pressed the button labeled ‘16’ and the elevator took off. Kurt blinked at the rows of buttons that reached well over thirty. Ohio certainly didn’t have buildings that tall.

“Floor 16 is where you’ll report to each day,” Ren explained, all business. “Just come to my office and I’ll get you started on some work—it’s my job to watch over our interns.”

Kurt nodded attentively. “What exactly will I be working on?”

“Depends on what we need done,” Ren responded easily. “It gets pretty hectic around here sometimes so we need someone to be a ‘jack-of-all-trades’ type, you know?”

Kurt smirked almost scornfully and looked up at Ren’s tactfully complacent expression. He had seen enough movies to know what Ren’s words actually translated to. “So that means I’ll be making coffee runs and anything else that people don’t feel like doing themselves, right?”

Ren’s apologetic smile was all the response Kurt needed. “Well, Kurt, I mean—“

“No, no, it’s fine—really,” Kurt interjected before Ren could try to sugarcoat the more disdainful aspects of his job description. He grinned with what he hoped came across as sincerity. “Getting coffee for people who work at Vogue is much better than no Vogue at all. I shouldn’t expect so much—I’m just an intern after all.”

A pleased grin spread across Ren’s face just as the elevator gave another ding. “I wish everyone had an attitude as tenacious as yours.”

The doors slid open and mayhem broke loose. Phones were ringing, papers were being shuffled, and people in expensive looking outfits were rushing by with their Bluetooth earpieces and BlackBerrys. Kurt’s eyes widened to their full extent, but Ren appeared unfazed. “Follow me.”

Ren exited the elevator and hurried down the hall at a breakneck pace. Kurt shuffled along beside him, practically jogging to keep up. Ren removed a small notepad and pen from the inside of his suit jacket and handed it to Kurt casually. “You might want to take notes.”

“O-Okay,” A slightly baffled and overwhelmed Kurt replied.

“To your left are the Marketing Executives,” Ren didn’t even glance in their direction. Kurt began scribbling on his notepad as he passed a few glass cubicles with well-dressed workers, all of whom were talking sternly on the phone. “It’s their job to book photographers for photo shoots and designers for runway selections.”

“O-Okay,” Kurt mumbled again, struggling to make his handwriting appear legible while following close behind Ren as he led him through the busy halls of the office building.

“To your right are the Editors,” Ren continued. A large glass-walled room sat to their right with a long table in the center. A group of men and women were crowded around the tabletop, examining photographs and clothes labels. “They, of course, are in charge of putting the magazine together which, as you probably know, must get approved by our boss—“

“Anna Wintour,” Kurt finished with reverence. A smile crept onto his face at the mere thought of being in such close proximity to the world’s biggest name in fashion. Kurt recalled many nights from his childhood where he had stayed up past his bedtime just to watch Youtube videos of Anna Wintour interviews in his room. It was safe to say that Kurt’s love of fashion was born out of Anna Wintour’s exquisite elegance and class.

Ren, however, hesitated. “Well, not quite yet… Before the draft is even worthy of her opinion, it must get approved by Carla, our Managing Editor—also known as, your boss.”

“What about your boss?” An unusually tall and slim woman approached the pair wearing a condescending smile. Her platinum blond hair was cut short in a stylish bob and her makeup was flawlessly applied. The dress she wore looked frighteningly similar to the one Kurt remembered seeing on the cover of last month’s issue. Both Kurt and Ren stopped dead in their tracks.

“Kurt, this is Carla Malone, Vogue’s Managing Editor,” Ren made a quick, unsure hand gesture to the breathtaking woman before them. “Carla, this is Kurt Hummel, our newest intern.”

Kurt immediately felt stripped and vulnerable as Carla’s judging glare passed over him. She seemed to be looking him up and down multiple times as if to confirm that he was, indeed, worthy of Vogue. Carla’s catlike eyes finally landed on Kurt’s terrified face, expression never changing.

“Nice boots,” She told him plainly as if it weren’t a compliment at all. She raised an eyebrow. “McQueen?”

Fumbling with his paralyzed tongue, Kurt managed to produce an intelligent response. “Patent leather. Two seasons ago.”

Carla shot a look at Ren and the two seemed to share some sort of private conversation with their eyes. Kurt swallowed as he watched the exchange, silently hoping that Carla’s slight smirk was out of appreciation rather than offense. The tall blond barely let her eyes graze over Kurt again, her smile lightening just a touch.

“I think you’ll fit in quite well here, Kyle—“

“It’s actually Kurt—“

“Now, let’s get down to business, shall we?” Carla handed Ren a copy of the magazine with countless sticky notes poking out of the pages. “There’s a Starbucks down the street—I take a non-fat caramel macchiato with no foam, extra hot, and three shakes of cinnamon.”

Nodding vigorously, Kurt spun on his heel and started hurrying back toward the elevators, feeling confident for the first time since he arrived for coffee was something Kurt Hummel knew well.

Kurt returned to the apartment early in the evening, bounding up the stairs to their floor with newfound enthusiasm. His first day at Vogue had gone better than expected considering how many coffee runs he had to make in a matter of a few hours. He was quite positive that the entire staff at the Madison Avenue Starbucks knew him by name after only the first day. Coffee runs were a small price to pay, Kurt figured, if it meant being surrounded by people just as passionate about fashion as himself. Racks of designer clothes rolled through the halls on multiple occasions and Ren even showed him the lower level where they store all their out-of-season clothes. Needless to say, Kurt entertained himself with personal fashion shows whenever he had downtime—which wasn’t often. When Kurt wasn’t out getting coffee, he was situated in Ren’s office, shadowing the man as he made calls, spoke with editors, and gave his opinions on which designers to showcase in their latest issue.

The people were kind when they weren’t completely stressed out with deadlines, Kurt discovered. Vogue was just as spectacular as Kurt imagined it to be and this bliss followed Kurt all the way home to the apartment. He unlocked the front door and stepped inside, gently humming to himself as he spun around to face… Blaine.

“Blaine?” Kurt closed the door behind him and brought his eyebrows together—clearly surprised. “I thought you had a class now.”

Indeed, Blaine was sitting on the futon with a far-off expression on his face. His guitar sat on the floor in front of him, motionless and musicless. His head of curly black hair turned toward Kurt when he heard the door open—eyes wide and pleading.

“I do,” Blaine breathed slowly. He closed his eyes briefly and swallowed as if he were about to admit something shameful while Kurt watched on worriedly. “…I left.”

Blaine’s words weren’t making any sense in Kurt’s mind. The slender brunette took a tentative and curious step forward. “You mean you just…walked out?”

Blaine nodded solemnly.

“Why?” Kurt nearly whispered.

That was the one question Blaine didn’t want to answer. He winced as the words escaped Kurt’s mouth and pulsed against his brain. It was clear that Blaine hadn’t quite figured out the best way to approach the situation yet, but he knew he couldn’t keep it a secret from Kurt any longer.

“Kurt, I…” He swallowed again and stood from the futon to face Kurt. “I’m not happy.”

The expression on Kurt’s face dropped in an instant. The brunette’s eyes fell to the floor, evidently hurt. With a scared, wavering voice he spoke. “With me?”

“No!” Blaine practically ran to Kurt, realizing what he had just admitted. The dark haired boy took his boyfriend’s hands in his, reassuring him with a gentle, loving gaze. “Of course not—that’s not what I meant.”

Kurt still appeared bewildered although the pain was gone from his eyes due to Blaine’s clarification. “Then why aren’t you happy?”

“Remember that night over Thanksgiving break? When you told me how happy you were about school and the internship?” Blaine asked quietly. Kurt nodded. “It made me come to terms with something I’ve been hiding from everyone—even myself—for a long time.”

Kurt watched carefully as a plethora of emotions flashed across Blaine’s face. Concern, hesitance, terror, shame. He had never seen Blaine in such a blatantly conflicted state.

“Seeing you so passionate about what you’re doing really…inspired me. I’m not happy with school,” Blaine continued slowly, aimlessly rubbing the back of Kurt’s hands with his thumbs. His head shot up to meet the anxious gaze of Kurt. “I don’t want to do Pre-Med anymore, Kurt. I’m not passionate about it.”

Kurt blinked, but offered Blaine a small, tentative grin. “Then switch majors.”

Blaine looked at the floor again and released a dry, humorless chuckle. Kurt’s attempts at comprehending Blaine’s dilemma were endearing, however, futile. The truth was that Blaine didn’t know how to admit this, even to Kurt—someone he can tell anything to. He had never said it out loud before.

“No, Kurt, that’s not what I mean. I don’t want to switch majors,” Blaine muttered sweetly. He took a moment to remember how to breathe as Kurt’s wide blue eyes watched him warily. “…I want to leave the school.”

Nothing happened. The room stood still for a long, pregnant pause. Blaine and Kurt stared into each other’s eyes, boring holes through the unmoving irises. Blaine was beginning to wonder if Kurt had actually heard him when the tall brunette spoke up.

“You mean you want to drop out of college?” The slight resentment in Kurt’s tone was undeniable, causing Blaine to wince inwardly.

“It sounds awful when you say it like that,” Blaine mumbled with a sigh.

“That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it?” Kurt demanded, voice growing louder as he went on. “You’re just leaving NYU and never coming back?”

Blaine began to rub his temples soothingly. “Kurt, I know it sounds completely insane—“

“Yes. Yes, it does, actually,”

“—But hear me out, okay? I’ve actually put a lot of thought into this decision,” Blaine gave Kurt another pleading look and the brunette waited expectantly. “You have the luxury of getting an opportunity to do what you’ve always wanted to do—and get paid for it. You never have to wake up in the morning with regrets because things couldn’t get anymore perfect for you right now.”

Kurt’s stony expression wavered slightly—Blaine noticed.

“I love music, Kurt. I’m passionate about it. I want to sing, I want to play guitar, I want to perform,” Blaine paused to gauge Kurt’s reaction. “I want to do what I love to do…not what my parents think is best for me. I know it seems like a mistake, but college just isn’t for me…and I would never be able to forgive myself if I cop out again…I was a coward when I ran to Dalton, but I’m not anymore. I’m doing this no matter what.”

Kurt froze and Blaine knew he had said the right thing. He wanted Kurt’s approval more than anything else—to know that the person he loves is on his side. Kurt inhaled slowly and opened his mouth wide, ready to speak.

“Well, as much as I adore the sound of Doctor Anderson,” He grinned softly. “Your happiness comes first.”

Blaine gripped Kurt’s shoulders and pulled him into an iron hug. A bit taken aback, Kurt giggled at the sudden force behind Blaine’s gesture and snaked his arms around his waist. The dark haired boy rested his chin on his boyfriend’s shoulder and spoke gently into his ear. “Thank you, Kurt.”

“I always wondered why you didn’t choose to pursue music in the first place,” Kurt’s musical laugh filled Blaine’s ears. “I know from experience that you just love the spotlight.”

Blaine released the hug and plopped himself down on the futon unceremoniously. “My parents decided my future for me pretty much since the day I was born…I’ve already proved to them that I don’t live up to their expectations—“ Blaine made a face and Kurt knew exactly what he was referring to. The Andersons had not expected their son to be gay. “—this is just another disappointment, I guess.”

Kurt’s expression suddenly tensed. “How will they take the news? Your parents, I mean.”

It was clear that Blaine did not want to think about his parents’ reactions. He exhaled loudly, slumped down in his seat, and all but melted dismally right then and there. “…not well,” He finally answered morbidly.

“You have to tell them soon, Blaine,” Kurt told him pointedly. He knew that Blaine would have no problem with “coincidentally forgetting” to mention this detail to his parents if he had his way. “They’re going to find out that you dropped out of school eventually and telling them yourself might cushion the fall a bit.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Blaine muttered quietly as if trying to convince himself. “I’ll tell them.”

“And don’t do it over the phone,” Kurt warned, pointing an accusing finger at Blaine as if he had just read his mind. Blaine looked positively guilty. “Something like this must be done in person.”

Blaine nodded unwillingly. “I’ll tell them the next time I see them…Christmas break.”

“Merry Christmas, mom and dad,” Kurt muttered cynically under his breath, earning him a helpless glance from Blaine. Kurt decided to back peddle for his boyfriend’s sake. “It’ll be fine. They have to listen to you—you’re old enough to make your own life decisions.”

“They’ll listen,” Blaine said, low and dark. “But they won’t like what they’re going to hear.”

Kurt’s expression quickly turned sympathetic as he took a seat beside Blaine on the futon. “College isn’t for everyone, Blaine. Your parents won’t be able to dispute anything if you just tell them how unhappy you are in school.”

Blaine looked down at his lap, clearly unconvinced. A small but infectious smile spread across Kurt’s face as he nudged his boyfriend with his shoulder. “Courage,” He reminded him plainly.

And with that in mind, Blaine’s confidence was bolstered.